How I Found Livingstone by Henry M. Stanley (trending books to read .txt) 📕

professor of minor philosophy. He is generally so sententious—

fond of aphorisms, and a very deliberate character. I was

astonished to find him so despairing. His aphorisms have

deserted him, his philosophy has not been able to stand against

disaster. He listened to me, more like a moribund, than one

possessing all the means of defence and offence.

I loaded his two-pounder with ball, and grape, and small slugs of

iron, and advised him not to fire it until Mirambo’s people were at

his gates.

About 4 p.m. I heard that Mirambo had deported himself to Kazima,

a place northwest of Tabora a couple of miles.

August 26th.—The Arabs sallied out this morning to attack Kazima,

but refrained, because Mirambo asked for a day’s grace, to eat the

beef he had stolen from them. He has asked them impudently to

come tomorrow morning, at which time he says he will give them

plenty of fighting,

Kwihara is once more restored to a peaceful aspect, and fugitives

no longer throng its narrow limits in fear and despair.

August 27th.—Mirambo retreated during the night; and when the

Arabs went in force to attack his village of Kazima, they found it

vacant.

The Arabs hold councils of war now-a-days—battle meetings, of

which they seem to be very fond, but extremely slow to act upon.

They were about to make friends with the northern Watuta, but

Mirambo was ahead of them. They had talked of invading Mirambo’s

territory the second time, but Mirambo invaded Unyanyembe with

fire and sword, bringing death to many a household, and he has

slain the noblest of them all.

The Arabs spend their hours in talking and arguing, while the Ujiji

and Karagwah roads are more firmly closed than ever. Indeed many

of the influential Arabs are talking of returning to Zanzibar;

saying, “Unyanyembe is ruined.”

Meanwhile, with poor success, however, perceiving the impossibility

of procuring Wanyamwezi pagazis, I am hiring the Wangwana renegades

living in Unyanyembe to proceed with me to Ujiji, at treble prices.

Each man is offered 30 doti, ordinary hire of a carrier being only

from 5 to 10 doti to Ujiji. I want fifty men. I intend to leave

about sixty or seventy loads here under charge of a guard. I

shall leave all personal baggage behind, except one small

portmanteau.

August 28th.—No news to-day of Mirambo. Shaw is getting strong

again.

Sheikh bin Nasib called on me to-day, but, except on minor

philosophy, he had nothing to say.

I have determined, after a study of the country, to lead a flying

caravan to Ujiji, by a southern road through northern Ukonongo

and Ukawendi. Sheikh bin Nasib has been informed to-night of

this determination.

August 29th.—Shaw got up to-day for a little work. Alas! all my

fine-spun plans of proceeding by boat over the Victoria N’Yanza,

thence down the Nile, have been totally demolished, I fear,

through this war with Mirambo—this black Bonaparte. Two months

have been wasted here already. The Arabs take such a long time to

come to a conclusion. Advice is plentiful, and words are as

numerous as the blades of grass in our valley; all that is wanting

indecision. The Arabs’ hope and stay is dead—Khamis bin Abdullah

is no more. Where are the other warriors of whom the Wangwana

and Wanyamwezi bards sing? Where is mighty Kisesa—great Abdullah

bin Nasib? Where is Sayd, the son of Majid? Kisesa is in

Zanzibar, and Sayd, the son of Majid, is in Ujiji, as yet

ignorant that his son has fallen in the forest of Wilyankuru.

Shaw is improving fast. I am unsuccessful as yet in procuring

soldiers. I almost despair of ever being able to move from here.

It is such a drowsy, sleepy, slow, dreaming country. Arabs,

Wangwana, Wanyamwezi, are all alike—all careless how time flies.

Their tomorrow means sometimes within a month. To me it is

simply maddening.

August 30th.—Shaw will not work. I cannot get him to stir

himself. I have petted him and coaxed him; I have even cooked

little luxuries for him myself. And, while I am straining

every nerve to get ready for Ujiji, Shaw is satisfied with

looking on listlessly. What a change from the ready-handed bold

man he was at Zanzibar!

I sat down by his side to-day with my palm and needle in order

to encourage him, and to-day, for the first time, I told him of

the real nature of my mission. I told him that I did not care

about the geography of the country half as much as I cared about

FINDING LIVINGSTONE! I told him, for the first time,

“Now, my dear Shaw, you think probably that I have been sent here

to find the depth of the Tanganika. Not a bit of it, man; I was

told to find Livingstone. It is to find Livingstone I am here.

It is to find Livingstone I am going. Don’t you see, old fellow,

the importance of the mission; don’t you see what reward you will

get from Mr. Bennett, if you will help me? I am sure, if ever you

come to New York, you will never be in want of a fifty-dollar bill.

So shake yourself; jump about; look lively. Say you will not die;

that is half the battle. Snap your fingers at the fever. I will

guarantee the fever won’t kill you. I have medicine enough for a

regiment here!”

His eyes lit up a little, but the light that shone in them shortly

faded, and died. I was quite disheartened. I made some strong

punch, to put fire in his veins, that I might see life in him.

I put sugar, and eggs, and seasoned it with lemon and spice.

“Drink, Shaw,” said I, “and forget your infirmities. You are not

sick, dear fellow; it is only ennui you are feeling. Look at

Selim there. Now, I will bet any amount, that he will not die;

that I will carry him home safe to his friends! I will carry you

home also, if you will, let me!”

September 1st:—According to Thani bin Abdullah whom I visited

to-day, at his tembe in Maroro, Mirambo lost two hundred men in

the attack upon Tabora, while the Arabs’ losses were, five Arabs,

thirteen freemen and eight slaves, besides three tembes, and over

one hundred small huts burned, two hundred and eighty ivory

tusks, and sixty cows and bullocks captured.

September 3rd.—Received a packet of letters and newspapers from

Capt. Webb, at Zanzibar. What a good thing it is that one’s

friends, even in far America, think of the absent one in Africa!

They tell me, that no one dreams of my being in Africa yet!

I applied to Sheikh bin Nasib to-day to permit Livingstone’s

caravan to go under my charge to Ujiji, but he would not listen

to it. He says he feels certain I am going to my death.

September 4th.—Shaw is quite well to-day, he says. Selim is down

with the fever. My force is gradually increasing, though some of

my old soldiers are falling off. Umgareza is blind; Baruti has

the small-pox very badly; Sadala has the intermittent.

September 5th.—Baruti died this morning. He was one of my best

soldiers; and was one of those men who accompanied Speke to Egypt.

Baruti is number seven of those who have died since leaving

Zanzibar.

To-day my ears have been poisoned with the reports of the Arabs,

about the state of the country I am about to travel through.

“The roads are bad; they are all stopped; the RugaRuga are out

in the forests; the Wakonongo are coming from the south to help

Mirambo; the Washensi are at war, one tribe against another.”

My men are getting dispirited, they have imbibed the fears of the

Arabs and the Wanyamwezi. Bombay begins to feel that I had better

go back to the coast, and try again some other time.

We buried Baruti under the shade of the banyan-tree, a few yards

west of my tembe. The grave was made four and a half feet deep

and three feet wide. At the bottom on one side a narrow trench was

excavated, into which the body was rolled on his side, with his

face turned towards Mecca. The body was dressed in a doti and

a half of new American sheeting. After it was placed properly

in its narrow bed, a sloping roof of sticks, covered over with

matting and old canvas, was made, to prevent the earth from

falling over the body. The grave was then filled, the soldiers

laughing merrily. On the top of the grave was planted a small

shrub, and into a small hole made with the hand, was poured

water lest he might feel thirsty—they said—on his way to

Paradise; water was then sprinkled all ever the grave, and

the gourd broken. This ceremony being ended, the men recited

the Arabic Fat-hah, after which they left the grave of their

dead comrade to think no more of him,

September 7th.—An Arab named Mohammed presented me to-day with a

little boy-slave, called “Ndugu M’hali” (my brother’s wealth).

As I did not like the name, I called the chiefs of my caravan

together, and asked them to give him a better name. One suggested

“Simba” (a lion), another said he thought “Ngombe” (a cow)

would suit the boy-child, another thought he ought to be called

“Mirambo,” which raised a loud laugh. Bombay thought “Bombay

Mdogo” would suit my black-skinned infant very well. Ulimengo,

however, after looking at his quick eyes, and noting his celerity

of movement, pronounced the name Ka-lu-la as the best for him,

“because,” said he, “just look at his eyes, so bright look at his

form, so slim! watch his movements, how quick! Yes, Kalulu is his

name.““Yes, bana,” said the others, “let it be Kalulu.”

“Kalulu” is a Kisawahili term for the young of the blue-buck

(perpusilla) antelope.

“Well, then,” said I, water being brought in a huge tin pan,

Selim, who was willing to stand godfather, holding him over the

water, “let his name henceforth be Kalulu, and let no man take it

from him,” and thus it was that the little black boy of Mohammed’s

came to be called Kalulu.

The Expedition is increasing in numbers.

We had quite an alarm before dark. Much firing was heard at

Tabora, which led us to anticipate an attack on Kwihara. It

turned out, however, to be a salute fired in honour of the arrival

of Sultan Kitambi to pay a visit to Mkasiwa, Sultan of Unyanyembe.

September 8th.—Towards night Sheikh bin Nasib received a letter

from an Arab at Mfuto, reporting that an attack was made on that

place by Mirambo and his Watuta allies. It also warned him to bid

the people of Kwihara hold themselves in readiness, because if

Mirambo succeeded in storming Mfuto, he would march direct on

Kwihara.

September 9th.—Mirambo was defeated with severe loss yesterday,

in his attack upon Mfuto. He was successful in an assault he made

upon a small Wanyamwezi village, but when he attempted to storm

Mfuto, he was repulsed with severe loss, losing three of his

principal men. Upon withdrawing his forces from the attack, the

inhabitants sallied out, and followed him to the forest of Umanda,

where he was again utterly routed, himself ingloriously flying

from the field.

The heads of his chief men slain in the attack were brought to

Kwikuru, the boma of Mkasiwa.

September 14th.—The Arab boy Selim is delirious from constant

fever. Shaw is sick again. These two occupy most of my time.

I am turned into a regular nurse, for I have no one to assist

me in attending upon them. If I try to instruct Abdul Kader

in the