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

peat, we arrived at the small stream of Sunuzzi, to a

camping place only a mile removed from a large settlement of Wahha.

But we were buried in the depths of a great forest—no road was in

the vicinity, no noise was made, deep silence was preserved; nor

were fires lit. We might therefore rest tranquilly secure, certain

that we should not be disturbed. Tomorrow morning the kirangozi

has promised we shall be out of Uhha, and if we travel on to

Niamtaga, in Ukaranga, the same day, the next day would see us

in Ujiji.

 

Patience, my soul! A few hours more, then the end of all this

will be known! I shall be face to face with that “white man with

the white hairs on his face, whoever he is!”

 

November 9th.—Two hours before dawn we left our camp on the Sunuzzi

River, and struck through the forest in a north-by-west direction,

having muzzled our goats previously, lest, by their bleating, they

might betray us. This was a mistake which might have ended

tragically, for just as the eastern sky began to assume a pale

greyish tint, we emerged from the jungle on the high road. The

guide thought we had passed Uhha, and set up a shout which was

echoed by every member of the caravan, and marched onward with

new vigor and increased energy, when plump we came to the outskirts

of a village, the inhabitants of which were beginning to stir.

Silence was called for at once, and the Expedition halted

immediately. I walked forward to the front to advise with the guide.

He did not know what to do. There was no time to consider, so I

ordered the goats to be slaughtered and left on the road, and the

guide to push on boldly through the village. The chickens also had

their throats cut; after which the Expedition resumed the march

quickly and silently, led by the guide, who had orders to plunge

into the jungle south of the road. I stayed until the last man

had disappeared; then, after preparing my Winchester, brought up

the rear, followed by my gunbearers with their stock of ammunition.

As we were about disappearing beyond the last hut, a man darted out

of his hut, and uttered an exclamation of alarm, and loud voices

were heard as if in dispute. But in a short time we were in the

depths of the jungle, hurrying away from the road in a southern

direction, and edging slightly westward. Once I thought we were

pursued, and I halted behind a tree to check our foes if they

persisted in following us; but a few minutes proved to me that we

were not pursued, After half-an-hour’s march we again turned our

faces westward. It was broad daylight now, and our eyes were

delighted with most picturesque and sequestered little valleys,

where wild fruit-trees grew, and rare flowers blossomed, and

tiny brooks tumbled over polished pebbles—where all was bright

and beautiful—until, finally, wading through one pretty pure

streamlet, whose soft murmurs we took for a gentle welcome, we

passed the boundary of wicked Uhha, and had entered Ukaranga!—

an event that was hailed with extravagant shouts of joy.

 

Presently we found the smooth road, and we trod gaily with

elastic steps, with limbs quickened for the march which we all

knew to be drawing near its end. What cared we now for the

difficulties we had encountered—for the rough and cruel forests,

for the thorny thickets and hurtful grass, for the jangle of all

savagedom, of which we had been the joyless audience! Tomorrow!

Ay, the great day draws nigh, and we may well laugh and sing while

in this triumphant mood. We have been sorely tried; we have been

angry with each other when vexed by troubles, but we forget all

these now, and there is no face but is radiant with the happiness

we have all deserved.

 

We made a short halt at noon, for rest and refreshment. I was

shown the hills from which the Tanganika could be seen, which

bounded the valley of the Liuche on the east. I could not contain

myself at the sight of them. Even with this short halt I was

restless and unsatisfied. We resumed the march again. I spurred

my men forward with the promise that tomorrow should see their reward.

 

We were in sight of the villages of the Wakaranga; the people

caught sight of us, and manifested considerable excitement. I sent

men ahead to reassure them, and they came forward to greet us. This

was so new and welcome to us, so different from the turbulent Wavinza

and the black-mailers of Uhha, that we were melted. But we had

no time to loiter by the way to indulge our joy. I was impelled onward

by my almost uncontrollable feelings. I wished to resolve my doubts

and fears. Was HE still there? Had HE heard of my coming? Would HE

fly?

 

How beautiful Ukaranga appears! The green hills are crowned by

clusters of straw-thatched cones. The hills rise and fall; here

denuded and cultivated, there in pasturage, here timbered, yonder

swarming with huts. The country has somewhat the aspect of Maryland.

 

We cross the Mkuti, a glorious little river! We ascend the opposite

bank, and stride through the forest like men who have done a deed

of which they may be proud. We have already travelled nine hours,

and the sun is sinking rapidly towards the west; yet, apparently,

we are not fatigued.

 

We reach the outskirts of Niamtaga, and we hear drums beat. The

people are flying into the woods; they desert their villages, for

they take us to be RugaRuga—the forest thieves of Mirambo, who,

after conquering the Arabs of Unyanyembe, are coming to fight the

Arabs of Ujiji. Even the King flies from his village, and every

man, woman, and child, terror-stricken, follows him. We enter

into it and quietly take possession. Finally, the word is bruited

about that we are Wangwana, from Unyanyembe.

 

“Well, then, is Mirambo dead?” they ask.

 

“No,” we answer.

 

“Well, how did you come to Ukaranga?”

 

“By way of Ukonongo, Ukawendi, and Uhha.”

 

” Oh—hi-le!” Then they laugh heartily at their fright, and begin

to make excuses. The King is introduced to me, and he says he had

only gone to the woods in order to attack us again—he meant to have

come back and killed us all, if we had been RugaRuga. But then we

know the poor King was terribly frightened, and would never have

dared to return, had we been RugaRuga—not he. We are not, however,

in a mood to quarrel with him about an idiomatic phrase peculiar

to him, but rather take him by the hand and shake it well, and say

we are so very glad to see him. And he shares in our pleasure,

and immediately three of the fattest sheep, pots of beer, flour,

and honey are brought to us as a gift, and I make him happier still

with two of the finest cloths I have in my bales; and thus a

friendly pact is entered into between us.

 

While I write my Diary of this day’s proceedings, I tell my

servant to lay out my new flannel suit, to oil my boots, to

chalk my helmet, and fold a new puggaree around it, that I may

make as presentable an appearance as possible before the white

man with the grey beard, and before the Arabs of Ujiji; for the

clothes I have worn through jungle and forest are in tatters.

Good-night; only let one day come again, and we shall see what

we shall see.

 

November 10th. Friday.—The 236th day from Bagamoyo on the Sea,

and the 51st day from Unyanyembe. General direction to Ujiji,

west-by-south. Time of march, six hours.

 

It is a happy, glorious morning. The air is fresh and cool.

The sky lovingly smiles on the earth and her children. The deep

woods are crowned in bright vernal leafage; the water of the Mkuti,

rushing under the emerald shade afforded by the bearded banks,

seems to challenge us for the race to Ujiji, with its continuous

brawl.

 

We are all outside the village cane fence, every man of us looking

as spruce, as neat, and happy as when we embarked on the dhows at

Zanzibar, which seems to us to have been ages ago—we have witnessed

and experienced so much.

 

“Forward!”

 

“Ay Wallah, ay Wallah, bana yango!” and the lighthearted braves

stride away at a rate which must soon bring us within view of

Ujiji. We ascend a hill overgrown with bamboo, descend into a

ravine through which dashes an impetuous little torrent, ascend

another short hill, then, along a smooth footpath running across

the slope of a long ridge, we push on as only eager, lighthearted

men can do.

 

In two hours I am warned to prepare for a view of the Tanganika,

for, from the top of a steep mountain the kirangozi says I can see

it. I almost vent the feeling of my heart in cries. But wait, we

must behold it first. And we press forward and up the hill

breathlessly, lest the grand scene hasten away. We are at last on

the summit. Ah! not yet can it be seen. A little further on—just

yonder, oh! there it is—a silvery gleam. I merely catch sight of

it between the trees, and—but here it is at last! True—THE TANGANIKA!

and there are the blue-black mountains of Ugoma and Ukaramba. An

immense broad sheet, a burnished bed of silver—lucid canopy of

blue above—lofty mountains are its valances, palm forests form its

fringes! The Tanganika!—Hurrah! and the men respond to the

exultant cry of the Anglo-Saxon with the lungs of Stentors, and the

great forests and the hills seem to share in our triumph.

 

“Was this the place where Burton and Speke stood, Bombay, when they

saw the lake first?”

 

“I don’t remember, master; it was somewhere about here, I think.”

 

“Poor fellows! The one was half-paralyzed, the other half-blind,”

said Sir Roderick Murchison, when he described Burton and Spoke’s

arrival in view of the Tanganika.

 

And I? Well, I am so happy that, were I quite paralyzed and

blinded, I think that at this supreme moment I could take up my

bed and walk, and all blindness would cease at once. Fortunately,

however, I am quite well; I have not suffered a day’s sickness

since the day I left Unyanyembe. How much would Shaw be willing

to give to be in my place now? Who is happiest—he revelling in

the luxuries of Unyanyembe, or I, standing on the summit of this

mountain, looking down with glad eyes and proud heart on the

Tanganika?

 

We are descending the western slope of the mountain, with the

valley of the Liuche before us. Something like an hour before

noon we have gained the thick matete brake, which grows on both

banks of the river; we wade through the clear stream, arrive on

the other side, emerge out of the brake, and the gardens of the

Wajiji are around us—a perfect marvel of vegetable wealth.

Details escape my hasty and partial observation. I am almost

overpowered with my own emotions. I notice the graceful palms,

neat plots, green with vegetable plants, and small villages

surrounded with frail fences of the matete-cane.

 

We push on rapidly, lest the news of our coming might reach the

people of Ujiji before we come in sight, and are ready for them.

We halt at a little brook, then ascend the long slope of a naked

ridge, the very last of the myriads we have crossed. This alone

prevents us from seeing the lake in all its vastness. We arrive

at the summit, travel across and arrive at its western