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

>We had barely completed the construction of our camp defences when

some of the men were heard challenging a small party of natives

which advanced towards our camp, headed by a man who, from his

garb and head-dress, we knew was from Zanzibar. After interchanging

the customary salutations, I was informed that this party was an

embassy from Simba (“Lion”), who ruled over Kasera, in Southern

Unyamwezi. Simba, I was told, was the son of Mkasiwa, King of

Unyanyembe, and was carrying on war with the Wazavira, of whom I was

warned to beware. He had heard such reports of my greatness that he

was sorry I did not take his road to Ukawendi, that he might have

had the opportunity of seeing me, and making friends with me; but

in the absence of a personal visit Simba had sent this embassy to

overtake me, in the hope that I would present him with a token of

my friendship in the shape of cloth. Though I was rather taken

aback by the demand, still it was politic in me to make this powerful

chief my friend, lest on my return from the search after Livingstone

he and I might fall out. And since it was incumbent on me to make

a present, for the sake of peace, it was necessary to exhibit my

desire for peace by giving—if I gave at all—a royal present.

The ambassador conveyed from me to Simba, or the “Lion” of Kasera,

two gorgeous cloths, and two other doti consisting of Merikani

and Kaniki; and, if I might believe the ambassador, I had made

Simba a friend for ever.

 

On the 18th of October, breaking camp at the usual hour, we

continued our march north-westward by a road which zig-zagged

along the base of the Kasera mountains, and which took us into

all kinds of difficulties. We traversed at least a dozen marshy

ravines, the depth of mire and water in which caused the utmost

anxiety. I sunk up to my neck in deep holes in the Stygian ooze

caused by elephants, and had to tramp through the oozy beds of

the Rungwa sources with any clothes wet and black with mud and slime.

Decency forbade that I should strip; and the hot sun would also

blister my body. Moreover, these morasses were too frequent to lose

time in undressing and dressing, and, as each man was weighted with

his own proper load, it would have been cruel to compel the men to

bear me across. Nothing remained, therefore, but to march on, all

encumbered as I was with my clothing and accoutrements, into these

several marshy watercourses, with all the philosophical stoicism

that my nature could muster for such emergencies. But it was very

uncomfortable, to say the least of it.

 

We soon entered the territory of the dreaded Wazavira, but no

enemy was in sight. Simba, in his wars, had made clean work of

the northern part of Uzavira, and we encountered nothing worse than

a view of the desolated country, which must have been once—judging

from the number of burnt huts and debris of ruined villages—extremely

populous. A young jungle was sprouting up vigorously in their

fields, and was rapidly becoming the home of wild denizens of the

forest. In one of the deserted and ruined villages, I found

quarters for the Expedition, which were by no means uncomfortable.

I shot three brace of guinea-fowl in the neighbourhood of Misonghi,

the deserted village we occupied, and Ulimengo, one of my hunters,

bagged an antelope, called the “mbawala,” for whose meat some of

the Wanyamwezi have a superstitious aversion. I take this species

of antelope, which stands about three and a half feet high, of a

reddish hide, head long, horns short, to be the “Nzoe” antelope

discovered by Speke in Uganda, and whose Latin designation is,

according to Dr. Sclater, Tragelaphus Spekii.” It has a short

bushy tail, and long hair along the spine.

 

A long march in a west-by-north direction, lasting six hours,

through a forest where the sable antelope was seen, and which was

otherwise prolific with game, brought us to a stream which ran by

the base of a lofty conical hill, on whose slopes flourished quite

a forest of feathery bamboo.

 

On the 20th, leaving our camp, which lay between the stream and

the conical hill above mentioned, and surmounting a low ridge which

sloped from the base of the hill-cone, we were greeted with another

picturesque view, of cones and scarped mountains, which heaved

upward in all directions. A march of nearly five hours through

this picturesque country brought us to the Mpokwa River, one of

the tributaries of the Rungwa, and to a village lately deserted

by the Wazavira. The huts were almost all intact, precisely as

they were left by their former inhabitants. In the gardens were

yet found vegetables, which, after living so long on meat, were

most grateful to us. On the branches of trees still rested the

Lares and Penates of the Wazavira, in the shape of large and

exceedingly well-made earthen pots.

 

In the neighbouring river one of my men succeeded, in few minutes,

in catching sixty fish of the silurus species the hand alone. A

number of birds hovered about stream , such as the white-headed

fish-eagle and the kingfisher, enormous, snowy spoonbills, ibis,

martins, &c. This river issued from a mountain clump eight miles

or so north of the village of Mpokwa, and comes flowing down a narrow

thread of water, sinuously winding amongst tall reeds and dense

brakes on either side-the home of hundreds of antelopes and buffaloes.

South of Mpokwa, the valley broadens, and the mountains deflect

eastward and westward, and beyond this point commences the plain

known as the Rikwa, which, during the Masika is inundated, but which,

in the dry season, presents the same bleached aspect that plains in

Africa generally do when the grass has ripened.

 

Travelling up along the right bank of the Mpokwa, on the 21st we

came to the head of the stream, and the sources of the Mpokwa,

issuing out of deep defiles enclosed by lofty ranges. The

mbawala and the buffalo were plentiful.

 

On the 22nd, after a march of four hours and a half, we came to the

beautiful stream of Mtambu—the water of which was sweet, and clear

as crystal, and flowed northward. We saw for the first time the

home of the lion and the leopard. Hear what Freiligrath says of

the place:

 

Where the thorny brake and thicket

Densely fill the interspace

Of the trees, through whose thick branches

Never sunshine lights the place,

There the lion dwells, a monarch,

Mightiest among the brutes;

There his right to reign supremest

Never one his claim disputes.

There he layeth down to slumber,

Having slain and ta’en his fill;

There he roameth, there be croucheth,

As it suits his lordly will.

 

We camped but a few yards from just such a place as the poet

describes. The herd-keeper who attended the goats and donkeys,

soon after our arrival in camp, drove the animals to water, and

in order to obtain it they travelled through a tunnel in the brake,

caused by elephants and rhinoceros. They had barely entered the

dark cavernous passage, when a black-spotted leopard sprang, and

fastened its fangs in the neck of one of the donkeys, causing it,

from the pain, to bray hideously. Its companions set up such a

frightful chorus, and so lashed their heels in the air at the

feline marauder, that the leopard bounded away through the brake,

as if in sheer dismay at the noisy cries which the attack had

provoked. The donkey’s neck exhibited some frightful wounds, but

the animal was not dangerously hurt.

 

Thinking that possibly I might meet with an adventure with a

lion or a leopard in that dark belt of tall trees, under whose

impenetrable shade grew the dense thicket that formed such

admirable coverts for the carnivorous species, I took a stroll

along the awesome place with the gunbearer, Kalulu, carrying an

extra gun, and a further supply of ammunition. We crept

cautiously along, looking keenly into the deep dark dens, the

entrances of which were revealed to us, as we journeyed, expectant

every moment to behold the reputed monarch of the brake and

thicket, bound forward to meet us, and I took a special delight

in picturing, in my imagination, the splendor and majesty of the

wrathful brute, as he might stand before me. I peered closely

into every dark opening, hoping to see the deadly glitter of the

great angry eyes, and the glowering menacing front of the lion as

he would regard me. But, alas! after an hour’s search for adventure,

I had encountered nothing, and I accordingly waxed courageous, and

crept into one of these leafy, thorny caverns, and found myself

shortly standing under a canopy of foliage that was held above my

head fully a hundred feet by the shapely and towering stems of the

royal mvule. Who can imagine the position? A smooth lawn-like glade;

a dense and awful growth of impenetrable jungle around us; those

stately natural pillars—a glorious phalanx of royal trees, bearing

at such sublime heights vivid green masses of foliage, through which

no single sun-ray penetrated, while at our feet babbled the primeval

brook, over smooth pebbles, in soft tones befitting the sacred quiet

of the scene! Who could have desecrated this solemn, holy harmony of

nature? But just as I was thinking it impossible that any man could

be tempted to disturb the serene solitude of the place, I saw a

monkey perched high on a branch over my head, contemplating, with

something of an awe-struck look, the strange intruders beneath.

Well, I could not help it, I laughed—laughed loud and long, until

I was hushed by the chaos of cries and strange noises which seemed

to respond to my laughing. A troop of monkeys, hidden in the

leafy depths above, had been rudely awakened, and, startled by

the noise I made, were hurrying away from the scene with a dreadful

clamor of cries and shrieks.

 

Emerging again into the broad sunlight, I strolled further in

search of something to shoot. Presently, I saw, feeding quietly

in the forest which bounded the valley of the Mtambu on the left,

a huge, reddish-coloured wild boar, armed with most horrid tusks.

Leaving Kalulu crouched down behind a tree, and my solar helmet

behind another close by—that I might more safely stalk the

animal—I advanced towards him some forty yards, and after taking

a deliberate aim, fired at his fore shoulder. As if nothing had hurt

him whatever, the animal made a furious bound, and then stood with

his bristles erected, and tufted tail, curved over the back—a most

formidable brute in appearance. While he was thus listening, and

searching the neighbourhood with his keen, small eyes, I planted

another shot in his chest, which ploughed its way through his body.

Instead of falling, however, as I expected he would, he charged

furiously in the direction the bullet had come, and as he rushed

past me, another ball was fired, which went right through him; but

still he kept on, until, within six or seven yards from the trees

behind which Kalulu was crouching down on one side, and the helmet

was resting behind another, he suddenly halted, and then dropped.

But as I was about to advance on him with my knife to cut his throat,

he suddenly started up; his eyes had caught sight of the little boy

Kalulu, and were then, almost immediately afterwards, attracted by

the sight of the snowy helmet. These strange objects on either side

of him proved too much for the boar, for, with a terrific grunt,

he darted on one side into a thick brake, from which it was

impossible to oust him, and as it was