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

tattered. Besides these discomforts, there

was a pungent, acrid plant which, apart from its strong odorous

emissions, struck me smartly on the face, leaving a burning effect

similar to cayenne; and the atmosphere, pent in by the density

of the jungle, was hot and stifling, and the perspiration transuded

through every pore, making my flannel tatters feel as if I had

been through a shower. When I had finally regained the plain, and

could breathe free, I mentally vowed that the penetralia of an

African jungle should not be visited by me again, save under most

urgent necessity.

 

The second and third day passed without any news of Maganga.

Accordingly, Shaw and Bombay were sent to hurry him up by all

means. On the fourth morning Shaw and Bombay returned, followed

by the procrastinating Maganga and his laggard people. Questions

only elicited an excuse that his men had been too sick, and he had

feared to tax their strength before they were quite equal to stand

the fatigue. Moreover he suggested that as they would be compelled

to stay one day more at the camp, I might push on to Kingaru and

camp there, until his arrival. Acting upon which suggestion I broke

camp and started for Kingaru, distant five miles.

 

On this march the land was more broken, and the caravan first

encountered jungle, which gave considerable trouble to our cart.

Pisolitic limestone cropped out in boulders and sheets, and we

began to imagine ourselves approaching healthy highlands, and as

if to give confirmation to the thought, to the north and northwest

loomed the purple cones of Udoe, and topmost of all Dilima Peak,

about 1,500 feet in height above the sea level. But soon after

sinking into a bowl-like valley, green with tall corn, the road

slightly deviated from northwest to west, the country still

rolling before us in wavy undulations.

 

In one of the depressions between these lengthy land-swells stood

the village of Kingaru, with surroundings significant in their

aspect of ague and fever. Perhaps the clouds surcharged with rain,

and the overhanging ridges and their dense forests dulled by the

gloom, made the place more than usually disagreeable, but my

first impressions of the sodden hollow, pent in by those dull

woods, with the deep gully close by containing pools of stagnant

water, were by no means agreeable.

 

Before we could arrange our camp and set the tents up, down poured

the furious harbinger of the Masika season in torrents sufficient

to damp the ardor and newborn love for East Africa I had lately

manifested. However, despite rain, we worked on until our camp was

finished and the property was safely stored from weather and thieves,

and we could regard with resignation the raindrops beating the soil

into mud of a very tenacious kind, and forming lakelets and rivers

of our camp-ground.

 

Towards night, the scene having reached its acme of unpleasantness,

the rain ceased, and the natives poured into camp from the villages

in the woods with their vendibles. Foremost among these, as if in

duty bound, came the village sultan—lord, chief, or head—bearing

three measures of matama and half a measure of rice, of which he

begged, with paternal smiles, my acceptance. But under his

smiling mask, bleared eyes, and wrinkled front was visible the soul

of trickery, which was of the cunningest kind. Responding under

the same mask adopted by this knavish elder, I said, “The chief of

Kingaru has called me a rich sultan. If I am a rich sultan why

comes not the chief with a rich present to me, that he might get

a rich return?” Said he, with another leer of his wrinkled visage,

“Kingaru is poor, there is no matama in the village.” To which I

replied that since there was no matama in the village I would pay

him half a shukka, or a yard of cloth, which would be exactly

equivalent to his present; that if he preferred to call his small

basketful a present, I should be content to call my yard of cloth

a present. With which logic he was fain to be satisfied.

 

April 1st.—To-day the Expedition suffered a loss in the death of

the grey Arab horse presented by Seyd Burghash, Sultan of Zanzibar.

The night previous I had noticed that the horse was suffering.

Bearing in mind what has been so frequently asserted, namely, that

no horses could live in the interior of Africa because of the tsetse,

I had him opened, and the stomach, which I believed to be diseased,

examined. Besides much undigested matama and grass there were found

twenty-five short, thick, white worms, sticking like leeches into

the coating of the stomach, while the intestines were almost alive

with the numbers of long white worms. I was satisfied that neither

man nor beast could long exist with such a mass of corrupting life

within him.

 

In order that the dead carcase might not taint the valley, I had

it buried deep in the ground, about a score of yards from the

encampment. From such a slight cause ensued a tremendous uproar

from Kingaru—chief of the village—who, with his brother-chiefs of

neighbouring villages, numbering in the aggregate two dozen wattled

huts, had taken counsel upon the best means of mulcting the Musungu

of a full doti or two of Merikani, and finally had arrived at the

conviction that the act of burying a dead horse in their soil without

“By your leave, sir,” was a grievous and fineable fault. Affecting

great indignation at the unpardonable omission, he, Kingaru,

concluded to send to the Musungu four of his young men to say to him

that “since you have buried your horse in my ground, it is well; let

him remain there; but you must pay me two doti of Merikani.” For

reply the messengers were told to say to the chief that I would

prefer talking the matter over with himself face to face, if he would

condescend to visit me in my tent once again. As the village was but

a stone’s throw from our encampment, before many minutes had elapsed

the wrinkled elder made his appearance at the door of my tent with

about half the village behind him.

 

The following dialogue which took place will serve to illustrate

the tempers of the people with whom I was about to have a year’s

trading intercourse:

 

White Man.—“Are you the great chief of Kingaru?”

 

Kingaru.—“Huh-uh. Yes.”

 

W. M.—“The great, great chief?”

 

Kingaru.—“Huh-uh. Yes.”

 

W. M.—” How many soldiers have you?”

 

Kingaru.—” Why?”

 

W. M.—“How many fighting men have you?”

 

Kingaru.—“None.”

 

W. M.—“Oh! I thought you might have a thousand men with you, by

your going to fine a strong white man, who has plenty of guns and

soldiers, two doti for burying a dead horse.”

 

Kingaru (rather perplexed).—” No; I have no soldiers. I have only

a few young men,”

 

W. M.—“Why do you come and make trouble, then?”

 

Kingaru.—“It was not I; it was my brothers who said to me, `Come

here, come here, Kingaru, see what the white man has done! Has he

not taken possession of your soil, in that he has put his horse

into your ground without your permission? Come, go to him and see

by what right.’ Therefore have I come to ask you, who gave you

permission to use my soil for a burying-ground?”

 

W. M. “I want no man’s permission to do what is right. My

horse died; had I left him to fester and stink in your valley,

sickness would visit your village, your water would become

unwholesome, and caravans would not stop here for trade; for

they would say, `This is an unlucky spot, let us go away.’ But

enough said: I understand you to say that you do not want him

buried in your ground; the error I have fallen into is easily put

right. This minute my soldiers shall dig him out again, and cover

up the soil as it was before; and the horse shall be left where he

died.” (Then shouting to Bombay.) “Ho! Bombay, take soldiers

with jembes to dig my horse out of the ground, drag him to where

he died, and make everything ready for a march tomorrow morning.”

 

Kingaru, his voice considerably higher, and his head moving to and

fro with emotion, cries out, “Akuna, akuna, bana!”—“No, no,

master! Let not the white man get angry. The horse is dead, and

now lies buried; let him remain so, since he is already there,

and let us be friends again.”

 

The Sheikh of Kingaru being thus brought to his senses, we bid each

other the friendly “Kwaheri,” and I was left alone to ruminate

over my loss. Barely half an hour had elapsed, it was 9 P.M.,

the camp was in a semi-doze, when I heard deep groans issuing from

one of the animals. Upon inquiry as to what animal was suffering,

I was surprised to hear that it was my bay horse. With a

bull’s-eye lantern, I visited him, and perceived that the pain was

located in the stomach, but whether it was from some poisonous

plant he had eaten while out grazing, or from some equine disease,

I did not know. He discharged copious quantities of loose matter,

but there was nothing peculiar in its colour. The pain was

evidently very great, for his struggles were very violent. I was up

all night, hoping that it was but a temporary effect of some strange

and noxious plant; but at 6 o’clock the next morning, after a short

period of great agony, he also died; exactly fifteen hours after his

companion. When the stomach was opened, it was found that death

was caused by the internal rupture of a large cancer, which had

affected the larger half of the coating of his stomach, and had

extended an inch or two up the larynx. The contents of the stomach

and intestines were deluged with the yellow viscous efflux from the

cancer.

 

I was thus deprived of both my horses, and that within the short

space of fifteen hours. With my limited knowledge of veterinary

science, however, strengthened by the actual and positive proofs

obtained by the dissection of the two stomachs, I can scarcely

state that horses can live to reach Unyanyembe, or that they can

travel with ease through this part of East Africa. But should I

have occasion at some future day, I should not hesitate to take

four horses with me, though I should certainly endeavour to

ascertain previous to purchase whether they, were perfectly sound

and healthy, and to those travellers who cherish a good horse I

would say, “Try one,” and be not discouraged by my unfortunate

experiences.

 

The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd of April passed, and nothing had we heard

or seen of the ever-lagging fourth caravan. In the meanwhile

the list of casualties was being augmented. Besides the loss

of this precious time, through the perverseness of the chief

of the other caravan, and the loss of my two horses, a pagazi

carrying boat-fixtures improved the opportunity, and deserted.

Selim was struck down with a severe attack of ague and fever,

and was soon after followed by the cook, then by the assistant cook

and tailor, Abdul Kader. Finally, before the third day was over,

Bombay had rheumatism, Uledi (Grant’s old valet) had a swollen

throat, Zaidi had the flux, Kingaru had the mukunguru; Khamisi,

a pagazi, suffered from a weakness of the loins; Farjalla had a

bilious fever; and before night closed Makoviga was very ill.

Out of a force of twenty-five men one had deserted, and ten were

on the sick list, and the presentiment that the ill-looking

neighbourhood of Kingaru would prove calamitous to me was verified.

 

On the 4th April Maganga and his people appeared,