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

again bending away,

like two lovers coy to unite. The tight little boat of the Doctor

would keep ahead, and the crimson and crossed flag of England would

wave before me, and it seemed to say to the beautiful laggard

astern, “Come on, come on; England leads the way.” But was it not

England’s place to be in the front here? She won the right to it

by discovering the Tanganika; America came but second.

 

Urimba, though a large district of Kawendi, has a village of

the same name peopled by refugees from Yombeh, who found the

delta of the Loajeri, though the unhealthiest of spots—equal

to that of the Rusizi—far preferable to the neighbourhood of

Sultan Pumburu, of Southern Kawendi. A good chase by the victors

seems to have given a shock to their systems, for they are very

timid and distrustful of strangers, and would by no means permit

us to enter their village, of which, to say the truth, I was very

glad, after a glance at the reeking corruption on which they were

encamped. In the immediate neighbourhood—nay, for a couple of

miles on either side—I should suppose that to a white man it were

death to sleep a single night. Leading the way south of the

village, I found a fit camping-place at the extreme south-east

corner of Tongwe Bay, about a mile and a half due west of the

lofty peak of Kivanga, or Kakungu. By an observation taken by

the Doctor, we found ourselves to be in latitude 5 degrees 54

minutes south.

 

None of the natives had heard of our shore party, and, as the

delta of the Loajeri and Mogambazi extended for about fifteen miles,

and withal was the most impassable of places, being perfectly flat,

overgrown with the tallest of matete, eschinomenae, and thorny

bush, and flooded with water, it was useless to fatigue our men

searching for the shore party in such an inhospitable country.

No provisions were procurable, for the villages were in a state of

semi-starvation, the inhabitants living from hand to mouth on what

reluctant Fortune threw into their nets.

 

The second day of our arrival at Urimba I struck off into the

interior with my gunbearer, Kalulu, carrying the Doctor’s

splendid double-barreled rifle (a Reilly, No. 12), on the search

for venison. After walking about a mile I came to a herd of

zebras. By creeping on all-fours I managed to come within one

hundred yards of them; but I was in a bad spot—low prickly shrubs;

and tsetse flies alighting on the rifle-sight, biting my nose,

and dashing into my eyes, completely disconcerted me; and, to add

to my discontent, my efforts to disengage myself from the thorns,

alarmed the zebras, which all stood facing the suspicious object in

the bush. I fired at the breast of one, but, as might be expected,

missed. The zebras galloped away to about three hundred yards

off, and I dashed into the open, and, hastily cocking the left-hand

trigger, aimed at a proud fellow trotting royally before his

fellows, and by good chance sent a bullet through his heart.

A fortunate shot also brought down a huge goose, which had a sharp

horny spur on the fore part of each wing. This supply of meat

materially contributed towards the provisioning of the party for

the transit of the unknown land that lay between us and Mrera,

in Rusawa, Kawendi.

 

It was not until the third day of our arrival at our camp at

Urimba that our shore party arrived. They had perceived our

immense flag hoisted on a twenty-feet long bamboo above the

tallest tree near our camp as they surmounted the sharp lofty ridge

behind Nerembe, fifteen miles off, and had at first taken it for a

huge bird; but there were sharp eyes in the crowd, and, guided by

it, they came to camp, greeted as only lost and found men are

greeted.

 

I suffered from another attack of fever at this camp, brought on by

the neighbourhood of the vile delta, the look of which sickened the

very heart in me.

 

On the 7th of January we struck camp, and turned our faces eastward,

and for me, home! Yet regretfully! There had been enough

happiness and pleasure, and pleasantest of social companionship

found on the shores of the lake for me. I had seen enough lovely

scenes which, siren-like, invited one to quiet rest; gentle scenes,

where there was neither jar nor tumult, neither strife nor defeat,

neither hope nor disappointment, but rest-a drowsy, indolent,

yet pleasant rest. And only a few drawbacks to these. There was

fever; there were no books, no newspapers, no wife of my own race

and blood, no theatres, no hotels, no restaurants, no East River

oysters, no mince-pies, neither buckwheat cakes, nor anything much

that was good for a cultivated palate to love. So, in turning to say

farewell to the then placid lake and the great blue mountains, that

grew bluer as they receded on either hand, I had the courage to

utter that awful word tearlessly, and without one sigh.

 

Our road led up through the valley of the Loajeri, after leaving

its delta, a valley growing ever narrower, until it narrowed into

a ravine choked by the now roaring, bellowing river, whose

resistless rush seemed to affect the very air we breathed. It was

getting oppressive, this narrowing ravine, and opportunely the

road breasted a knoll, then a terrace, then a hill, and lastly a

mountain, where we halted to encamp. As we prepared to select a

camping-place, the Doctor silently pointed forward, and suddenly

a dead silence reigned everywhere. The quinine which I had taken

in the morning seemed to affect me in every crevice of my brain;

but a bitter evil remained, and, though I trembled under the heavy

weight of the Reilly rifle, I crept forward to where the Doctor

was pointing. I found myself looking down a steep ravine, on the

other bank of which a fine buffalo cow was scrambling upward. She

had just reached the summit, and was turning round to survey her

enemy, when I succeeded in planting a shot just behind the shoulder

blade, and close to the spine, evoking from her a deep bellow of pain.

“She is shot! she is shot!” exclaimed the Doctor; “that is a sure sign

you have hit her.” And the men even raised a shout at the prospect

of meat. A second, planted in her spine, brought her to her knees,

and a third ended her. We thus had another supply of provisions,

which, cut up and dried over a fire, as the Wangwana are accustomed

to do, would carry them far over the unpeopled wilderness before

us. For the Doctor and myself, we had the tongue, the hump, and

a few choice pieces salted down, and in a few days had prime

corned beef. It is not inapt to state that the rifle had more

commendations bestowed on it than the hunter by the Wangwana.

 

The next day we continued the march eastward, under the guidance

of our kirangozi; but it was evident, by the road he led us,

that he knew nothing of the country, though, through his

volubility, he had led us to believe that he knew all about Ngondo,

Yombeh, and Pumburu’s districts. When recalled from the head of

the caravan, we were about to descend into the rapid Loajeri, and

beyond it were three ranges of impassable mountains, which we were

to cross in a northeasterly direction; quite out of our road.

After consulting with the Doctor, I put myself at the head of the

caravan, and following the spine of the ridge, struck off due east,

regardless of how the road ran. At intervals a travelled road

crossed our path, and, after following it a while, we came to the

ford of the Loajeri. The Loajeri rises south and south-east of

Kakungu Peak. We made the best we could of the road after crossing

the river, until we reached the main path that runs from Karah to

Ngondo and Pumburu, in Southern Kawendi.

 

On the 9th, soon after leaving camp, we left the travelled path,

and made for a gap in the are of hills before us, as Pumburu was

at war with the people of Manya Msenge, a district of northern

Kawendi. The country teemed with game, the buffaloes and zebras

were plentiful. Among the conspicuous trees were the hyphene and

borassus palm trees, and a tree bearing a fruit about the size of

a 600-pounder cannon-ball, called by some natives “mabyah,”*

according to the Doctor, the seeds of which are roasted and eaten.

They are not to be recommended as food to Europeans.

_________________

* In the Kisawahili tongue, “mabyah,” “mbyah, “byah,” mean bad,

unpleasant.

_________________

 

On the 10th, putting myself at the head of my men, with my

compass in hand, I led the way east for three hours. A beautiful

park-land was revealed to us; but the grass was very tall, and

the rainy season, which had commenced in earnest, made my work

excessively disagreeable. Through this tall grass, which was as

high as my throat, I had to force my way, compass in hand, to

lead the Expedition, as there was not the least sign of a road,

and we were now in an untravelled country. We made our camp on

a beautiful little stream flowing north; one of the feeders of

the Rugufu River.

 

The 11th still saw me plunging through the grass, which showered

drops of rain on me every time I made a step forward. In two

hours we crossed a small stream, with slippery syenitic rocks in

its bed, showing the action of furious torrents. Mushrooms were

in abundance, and very large. In crossing, an old pagazi of

Unyamwezi, weather-beaten, uttered, in a deplorable tone, “My

kibuyu is dead;” by which he meant that he had slipped, and in

falling had broken his gourd, which in Kisawahili is “kibuyu.”

 

On the eastern bank we halted for lunch, and, after an hour and

a half’s march, arrived at another stream, which I took to be the

Mtambu, at first from the similarity of the land, though my map

informed me that it was impossible. The scenery around was very

similar, and to the north we had cited a similar tabular hill to

the “Magdala” Mount I had discovered north of Imrera, while going

to the Malagarazi. Though we had only travelled three and a half

hours the Doctor was very tired as the country was exceedingly

rough.

 

The next day, crossing several ranges, with glorious scenes of

surpassing beauty everywhere around us, we came in view of a

mighty and swift torrent, whose bed was sunk deep between enormous

lofty walls of sandstone rock, where it roared and brawled with

the noise of a little Niagara.

 

Having seen our camp prepared on a picturesque knoll, I thought I

would endeavour to procure some meat, which this interesting region

seemed to promise. I sallied out with my little Winchester along

the banks of the river eastward. I travelled for an hour or two,

the prospect getting more picturesque and lovely, and then went up

a ravine which looked very promising. Unsuccessful, I strode up

the bank, and my astonishment may be conceived when I found

myself directly in front of an elephant, who had his large broad

ears held out like studding sails—the colossal monster, the

incarnation of might of the African world. Methought when I saw

his trunk stretched forward, like a warning finger, that I heard a

voice say, “Siste, Venator!” But whether it did not proceed from

my imagination or—No; I believe it proceeded from Kalulu, who

must have shouted, “Tembo, tembo! bana yango!” “Lo! an elephant!

an elephant, my master!”

 

For the young rascal had fled as soon