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

art of being useful, his head is so befogged with the

villainous fumes of Unyamwezi tobacco, that he wanders bewildered

about, breaking dishes, and upsetting cooked dainties, until

I get so exasperated that my peace of mind is broken completely

for a full hour. If I ask Ferajji, my now formally constituted

cook, to assist, his thick wooden head fails to receive an idea,

and I am thus obliged to play the part of chef de cuisine.

 

September 15th.—The third month of my residence in Unyanyembe is

almost finished, and I am still here, but I hope to be gone before

the 23rd inst.

 

All last night, until nine A.M. this morning, my soldiers danced

and sang to the names of their dead comrades, whose bones now

bleach in the forests of Wilyankuru. Two or three huge pots of

pombe failed to satisfy the raging thirst which the vigorous

exercise they were engaged in, created. So, early this

morning, I was called upon to contribute a shukka for another

potful of the potent liquor.

 

To-day I was busy selecting the loads for each soldier and

pagazi. In order to lighten their labor as much as possible, I

reduced each load from 70 lbs. to 50 lbs., by which I hope to be

enabled to make some long marches. I have been able to engage ten

pagazis during the last two or three days.

 

I have two or three men still very sick, and it is almost useless

to expect that they will be able to carry anything, but I

am in hopes that other men may be engaged to take their places

before the actual day of departure, which now seems to be drawing

near rapidly.

 

September 16th.—We have almost finished our work—on the fifth day

from this—God willing—we shall march. I engaged two more pagazis

besides two guides, named Asmani and Mabruki. If vastness of the

human form could terrify any one, certainly Asmani’s appearance

is well calculated to produce that effect. He stands considerably

over six feet without shoes, and has shoulders broad enough for two

ordinary men.

 

Tomorrow I mean to give the people a farewell feast, to celebrate

our departure from this forbidding and unhappy country.

 

September 17th.—The banquet is ended. I slaughtered two bullocks,

and had a barbacue; three sheep, two goats, and fifteen chickens,

120 lbs. of rice, twenty large loaves of bread made of Indian

cornflour, one hundred eggs, 10 lbs. of butter, and five gallons

of sweet-milk, were the contents of which the banquet was formed.

The men invited their friends and neighbours, and about one hundred

women and children partook of it.

 

After the banquet was ended, the pombe, or native beer, was brought

in in five gallon pots, and the people commenced their dance,

which continues even now as I write.

 

September 19th.—I had a slight attack of fever to-day, which has

postponed our departure. Selim and Shaw are both recovered.

 

About 8 P.M. Sheik bin Nasib came to me imploring me not to go

away tomorrow, because I was so sick. Thani Sakhburi suggested

to me that I might stay another month. In answer, I told them

that white men are not accustomed to break their words. I had

said I would go, and I intended to go.

 

Sheikh bin Nasib gave up all hope of inducing me to remain another

day, and he has gone away, with a promise to write to Seyd Burghash

to tell him how obstinate I am; and that I am determined to be

killed. This was a parting shot.

 

About 10 P.M. the fever had gone. All were asleep in the tembe

but myself, and an unutterable loneliness came on me as I reflected

on my position, and my intentions, and felt the utter lack of

sympathy with me in all around. It requires more nerve than I

possess, to dispel all the dark presentiments that come upon the

mind. But probably what I call presentiments are simply the

impress on the mind of the warnings which these false-hearted Arabs

have repeated so often. This melancholy and loneliness I feel,

may probably have their origin from the same cause. The single

candle, which barely lights up the dark shade that fills the

corners of my room, is but a poor incentive to cheerfulness.

I feel as though I were imprisoned between stone walls. But why

should I feel as if baited by these stupid, slow-witted Arabs and

their warnings and croakings? I fancy a suspicion haunts my

mind, as I write, that there lies some motive behind all this.

I wonder if these Arabs tell me all these things to keep me here,

in the hope that I might be induced another time to assist them

in their war with Mirambo! If they think so, they are much

mistaken, for I have taken a solemn, enduring oath, an oath to be

kept while the least hope of life remains in me, not to be tempted

to break the resolution I have formed, never to give up the search,

until I find Livingstone alive, or find his dead body; and never

to return home without the strongest possible proofs that he is

alive, or that he is dead. No living man, or living men, shall

stop me, only death can prevent me. But death—not even this;

I shall not die, I will not die, I cannot die! And something

tells me, I do not know what it is—perhaps it is the ever-living hopefulness of my own nature, perhaps it is the natural

presumption born out of an abundant and glowing vitality, or

the outcome of an overweening confidence in oneself—anyhow and

everyhow, something tells me to-night I shall find him, and—write

it larger—FIND HIM! FIND HIM! Even the words are inspiring.

I feel more happy. Have I uttered a prayer? I shall sleep

calmly to-night.

 

I have felt myself compelled to copy out of my Diary the above

notes, as they explain, written as they are on the spot, the

vicissitudes of my “Life at Unyanyembe.” To me they appear

to explain far better than any amount of descriptive writing,

even of the most graphic, the nature of the life I led. There

they are, unexaggerated, in their literality, precisely as I

conceived them at the time they happened. They speak of fevers

without number to myself and men, they relate our dangers, and

little joys, our annoyances and our pleasures, as they occurred.

 

CHAPTER X. TO MRERA, UKONONGO.

 

Departure from Unyanyembe.—The expedition reorganized.-Bombay.—

Mr. Shaw returns sick to Unyanyembe.—A noble forest.-The fever

described.—Happiness of the camp.—A park-land.—Herds of game

and noble sport.—A mutiny.—Punishment of the ringleaders.

Elephants.—Arrival at Mrera

 

The 20th of September had arrived. This was the day I had decided

to cut loose from those who tormented me with their doubts, their

fears, and beliefs, and commence the march to Ujiji by a southern

route. I was very weak from the fever that had attacked me the

day before, and it was a most injudicious act to commence a march

under such circumstances. But I had boasted to Sheikh bin Nasib

that a white man never breaks his word, and my reputation as a

white man would have been ruined had I stayed behind, or postponed

the march, in consequence of feebleness.

 

I mustered the entire caravan outside the tembe, our flags and

streamers were unfurled, the men had their loads resting on the

walls, there was considerable shouting, and laughing, and negroidal

fanfaronnade. The Arabs had collected from curiosity’s sake to see

us off—all except Sheikh bin Nasib, whom I had offended by my

asinine opposition to his wishes. The old Sheikh took to his bed,

but sent his son to bear me a last morsel of Philosophic

sentimentality, which I was to treasure up as the last words of

the patriarchal Sheikh, the son of Nasib, the son of Ali, the son

of Sayf. Poor Sheikh! if thou hadst only known what was at the

bottom of this stubbornness—this ass-like determination to proceed

the wrong way—what wouldst thou then have said, 0 Sheikh? But the

Sheikh comforted himself with the thought that I might know what I

was about better than he did, which is most likely, only neither

he nor any other Arab will ever know exactly the motive that

induced me to march at all westward—when the road to the east was

ever so much easier.

 

My braves whom I had enlisted for a rapid march somewhere, out of

Unyanyembe, were named as follows:—

 

1. John William Shaw, London, England.

 

2. Selim Heshmy, Arab.

 

3. Seedy Mbarak Mombay, Zanzibar.

 

4. Mabruki Spoke, ditto.

 

5. Ulimengo, ditto

 

6. Ambari, ditto.

 

7. Uledi, ditto.

 

8. Asmani, ditto.

 

9. Sarmean, ditto.

 

10. Kamna, ditto.

 

11. Zaidi, ditto.

 

12. Khamisi, ditto.

 

13. Chowpereh, Bagamoyo.

 

14. Kingaru, ditto.

 

15. Belali, ditto.

 

16. Ferous, Unyanyembe.

 

17. Rojab, Bagamoyo.

 

18. Mabruk Unyanyembe, Unyanyembe.

 

19. Mtamani, ditto.

 

20. Chanda, Maroro.

 

21. Sadala, Zanzibar.

 

22. Kombo, ditto.

 

23. Saburi the Great, Maroro.

 

24. Saburi the Little, ditto.

 

25. Marora, ditto.

 

26. Ferajji (the cook), Zanzibar.

 

27. Mabruk Saleem, Zanzibar.

 

28. Baraka, ditto.

 

29. Ibrahim, Maroro.

 

30. Mabruk Ferous, ditto.

 

31. Baruti, Bagamoyo.

 

32. Umgareza, Zanzibar.

 

33. Hamadi (the guide), ditto.

 

34. Asmani, ditto, ditto.

 

35. Mabruk, ditto ditto.

 

36. Hamdallah (the guide), Tabora.

 

37. Jumah, Zanzibar.

 

38. Maganga, Mkwenkwe.

 

39. Muccadum, Tabora.

 

40. Dasturi, ditto.

 

41. Tumayona, Ujiji.

 

42. Mparamoto, Ujiji.

 

43. Wakiri, ditto.

 

44. Mufu, ditto.

 

45. Mpepo, ditto.

 

46. Kapingu, Ujiji.

 

47. Mashishanga, ditto.

 

48. Muheruka, ditto.

 

49. Missossi, ditto.

 

50. Tufum Byah, ditto.

 

51. Majwara (boy), Uganda.

 

52. Belali (boy), Uemba.

 

53. Kalulu (boy), Lunda.

 

54. Abdul Kader (tailor), Malabar.

 

These are the men and boys whom I had chosen to be my companions

on the apparently useless mission of seeking for the lost traveller,

David Livingstone. The goods with which I had burdened them,

consisted of 1,000 doti, or 4,000 yds. of cloth, six bags of beads,

four loads of ammunition, one tent, one bed and clothes, one box of

medicine, sextant and books, two loads of tea, coffee, and sugar,

one load of flour and candles, one load of canned meats, sardines,

and miscellaneous necessaries, and one load of cooking utensils.

 

The men were all in their places except Bombay. Bombay had gone;

he could not be found. I despatched a man to hunt him up. He

was found weeping in the arms of his Delilah.

 

“Why did you go away, Bombay, when you knew I intended to go, and

was waiting?”

 

“Oh, master, I was saying good-bye to my missis.”

 

” Oh, indeed?”

 

“Yes, master; you no do it, when you go away?

 

“Silence, sir.”

 

“Oh! all right.”

 

“What is the matter with you, Bombay?”

 

“Oh, nuffin.”

 

As I saw he was in a humour to pick a quarrel with me before those

Arabs who had congregated outside of my tembe to witness my departure;

and as I was not in a humour to be balked by anything that might turn

up, the consequence was, that I was obliged to thrash Bombay, an

operation which soon cooled his hot choler, but brought down on my

head a loud chorus of remonstrances from my pretended Arab friends—

“Now, master, don’t, don’t—stop it, master: the poor man knows

better than you what he and you may expect on the road you are now

taking.”

 

If anything was better calculated to put me in a rage than Bombay’s

insolence