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

met Livingstone at Chicumbi’s,

or Kwa-chi-kumbi’s, country, and travelled with him afterwards, I

hear, to Manyuema or Manyema. Manyuema is forty marches from

the north of Nyassa. Livingstone was walking; he was dressed in

American sheeting. He had lost all his cloth in Lake Liemba while

crossing it in a boat. He had three canoes with him; in one he

put his cloth, another he loaded with his boxes and some of his

men, into the third he went himself with two servants and two

fishermen. The boat with his cloth was upset. On leaving Nyassa,

Livingstone went to Ubisa, thence to Uemba, thence to Urungu.

Livingstone wore a cap. He had a breechloading double-barreled

rifle with him, which fired fulminating balls. He was also armed

with two revolvers. The Wahiyow with Livingstone told this man

that their master had many men with him at first, but that

several had deserted him.

 

August 13th.—A caravan came in to-day from the seacoast. They

reported that William L. Farquhar, whom I left sick at Mpwapwa,

Usagara, and his cook, were dead. Farquhar, I was told, died a few

days after I had entered Ugogo, his cook died a few weeks later.

My first impulse was for revenge. I believed that Leukole had

played me false, and had poisoned him, or that he had been murdered

in some other manner; but a personal interview with the Msawahili

who brought the news informing me that Farquhar had succumbed to

his dreadful illness has done away with that suspicion. So far

as I could understand him, Farquhar had in the morning declared

himself well enough to proceed, but in attempting to rise, had

fallen backward and died. I was also told that the Wasagara,

possessing some superstitious notions respecting the dead, had

ordered Jako to take the body out for burial, that Jako, not

being able to carry it, had dragged the body to the jungle,

and there left it naked without the slightest covering of

earth, or anything else.

 

“There is one of us gone, Shaw, my boy! Who will be the next?”

I remarked that night to my companion.

 

August 14th.—Wrote some letters to Zanzibar. Shaw was taken very

ill last night.

 

August 19th. Saturday.—My soldiers are employed stringing beads.

Shaw is still a-bed. We hear that Mirambo is coming to Unyanyembe.

A detachment of Arabs and their slaves have started this morning to

possess themselves of the powder left there by the redoubtable

Sheikh Sayd bin Salim, the commander-in-chief of the Arab

settlements.

 

August 21st. Monday.—Shaw still sick. One hundred fundo of beads

have been strung. The Arabs are preparing for another sally

against Mirambo. The advance of Mirambo upon Unyanyembe was denied

by Sayd bin Salim, this morning.

 

August 22nd.—We were stringing beads this morning, when, about 10

A.M., we heard a continued firing from the direction of Tabora.

Rushing out from our work to the front door facing Tabora, we heard

considerable volleying, and scattered firing, plainly; and

ascending to the top of my tembe, I saw with my glasses the

smoke of the guns. Some of my men who were sent on to ascertain

the cause came running back with the information that Mirambo had

attacked Tabora with over two thousand men, and that a force of

over one thousand Watuta, who had allied themselves with him for

the sake of plunder, had come suddenly upon Tabora, attacking from

opposite directions.

 

Later in the day, or about noon, watching the low saddle over

which we could see Tabora, we saw it crowded with fugitives

from that settlement, who were rushing to our settlement at

Kwihara for protection. From these people we heard the sad

information that the noble Khamis bin Abdullah, his little protege,

Khamis, Mohammed bin Abdullah, Ibrahim bin Rashid, and Sayf, the

son of Ali, the son of Sheikh, the son of Nasib, had been slain.

 

When I inquired into the details of the attack, and the manner of

the death of these Arabs, I was told that after the first firing

which warned the inhabitants of Tabora that the enemy was upon

them, Khamis bin Abdullah and some of the principal Arabs who

happened to be with him had ascended to the roof of his tembe,

and with his spyglass he had looked towards the direction of the

firing. To his great astonishment he saw the plain around Tabora

filled with approaching savages, and about two miles off, near

Kazima, a tent pitched, which he knew to belong to Mirambo, from

its having been presented to that chief by the Arabs of Tabora

when they were on good terms with him.

 

Khamis bin Abdullah descended to his house saying, “Let us go to

meet him. Arm yourselves, my friends, and come with me.” His

friends advised him strongly sat to go out of his tembe; for so

long as each Arab kept to his tembe they were more than a match

for the Ruga Ruga and the Watuta together. But Khamis broke out

impatiently with, “Would you advise us to stop in our tembes,

for fear of this Mshensi (pagan)? Who goes with me?” His little

protege, Khamis,, son of a dead friend, asked to be allowed to be

his gunbearer;. Mohammed bin Abdulluh, Ibrahim bin Rashid, and

Sayf, the son of Ali, young Arabs of good families, who were

proud to live with the noble Khamis, also offered to go with him.

After hastily arming eighty of his slaves, contrary to the advice

of his prudent friends, he sallied out, and was soon face to face

with his cunning and determined enemy Mirambo. This chief, upon

seeing the Arabs advance towards him, gave orders to retreat slowly.

Khamis, deceived by this, rushed on with his friends after them.

Suddenly Mirambo ordered his men to advance upon them in a body,

and at the sight of the precipitate rush upon their party, Khamis’s

slaves incontinently took to their heels, never even deigning to cast

a glance behind them, leaving their master to the fate which was now

overtaking him. The savages surrounded the five Arabs, and though

several of them fell before the Arabs’ fire, continued to shoot at

the little party, until Khamis bin Abdullah received a bullet in

the leg, which brought him to his knees, and, for the first time,

to the knowledge that his slaves had deserted him. Though wounded,

the brave man continued shooting, but he soon afterwards received

a bullet through the heart. Little Khamis, upon seeing his adopted

father’s fall, exclaimed: “My father Khamis is dead, I will die

with him,” and continued fighting until he received, shortly

after, his death wound. In a few minutes there was not one Arab

left alive.

 

Late at night some more particulars arrived of this tragic scene.

I was told by people who saw the bodies, that the body of Khamis

bin Abdullah, who was a fine noble, brave, portly man, was found

with the skin of his forehead, the beard and skin of the lower part

of his face, the fore part of the nose, the fat over the stomach

and abdomen, and, lastly, a bit from each heel, cut off, by the

savage allies of Mirambo. And in the same condition were found

the bodies of his adopted son and fallen friends. The flesh and

skin thus taken from the bodies was taken, of course, by the

waganga or medicine men, to make what they deem to be the most

powerful potion of all to enable men to be strong against

their enemies. This potion is mixed up with their ugali and rice,

and is taken in this manner with the most perfect confidence in its

efficacy, as an invulnerable protection against bullets and

missiles of all descriptions.

 

It was a most sorry scene to witness from our excited settlement

at Kwihara, almost the whole of Tabora in flames, and to see the

hundreds of people crowding into Kwihara.

 

Perceiving that my people were willing to stand by me, I made

preparations for defence by boring loopholes for muskets into the

stout clay walls of my tembe. They were made so quickly, and

seemed so admirably adapted for the efficient defence of the

tembe, that my men got quite brave, and Wangwana refugees with

guns in their hands, driven out of Tabora, asked to be admitted

into our tembe to assist in its defence. Livingstone’s men were

also collected, and invited to help defend their master’s goods

against Mirambo’s supposed attack. By night I had one hundred

and fifty armed men in my courtyard, stationed at every possible

point where an attack might be expected. Tomorrow Mirambo has

threatened that he will come to Kwihara. I hope he will come, and

if he comes within range of an American rifle, I shall see what

virtue lies in American lead.

 

August 23rd.—We have passed a very anxious day in the valley of

Kwihara. Our eyes were constantly directed towards unfortunate

Tabora. It has been said that three tembes only have stood the

brunt of the attack. Abid bin Suliman’s house has been destroyed,

and over two hundred tusks of ivory that belonged to him have become

the property of the African Bonaparte. My tembe is in as efficient

a state of defence as its style and means of defence will allow.

Rifle-pits surround the house outside, and all native huts that

obstructed the view have been torn down, and all trees and shrubs

which might serve as a shelter for any one of the enemy have been

cut. Provisions and water enough for six days have been brought.

I have ammunition enough to last two weeks. The walls are three

feet thick, and there are apartments within apartments, so that

a desperate body of men could fight until the last room had been

taken.

 

The Arabs, my neighbours, endeavour to seem brave, but it is

evident they are about despairing; I have heard it rumoured that

the Arabs of Kwihara, if Tabora is taken, will start en masse for

the coast, and give the country up to Mirambo. If such are their

intentions, and they are really carried into effect, I shall be

in a pretty mess. However, if they do leave me, Mirambo will not

reap any benefit from my stores, nor from Livingstone’s either,

for I shall burn the whole house, and everything in it.

 

August 24th.—The American flag is still waving above my house,

and the Arabs are still in Unyanyembe.

 

About 10 A.M., a messenger came from Tabora, asking us if we were

not going to assist them against Mirambo. I felt very much like

going out to help them; but after debating long upon the pros and

cons of it,—asking myself, Was it prudent? Ought I to go? What

will become of the people if I were killed? Will they not desert

me again? What was the fate of Khamis bin Abdullah?—I sent word

that I would not go; that they ought to feel perfectly at home in

their tembes against such a force as Mirambo had, that I should

be glad if they could induce him to come to Kwihara, in which

case I would try and pick him off.

 

They say that Mirambo, and his principal officer, carry umbrellas

over their heads, that he himself has long hair like a Mnyamwezi

pagazi, and a beard. If he comes, all the men carrying umbrellas

will have bullets rained on them in the hope that one lucky bullet

may hit him. According to popular ideas, I should make a silver

bullet, but I have no silver with me. I might make a gold one.

 

About, noon I went over to see Sheikh bin Nasib, leaving about

100 men inside the house to guard it while I was absent. This old

fellow is quite a philosopher in his way.