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

in Ujiji.”

“Did Mionvu tell you that this is the last time we would have to

pay?”

“He did, indeed.”

“What do you say, Asmani ? Shall we fight or pay?” Asmani’s

face wore the usual smile, but he replied,

“I am afraid we must pay. This is positively the last time.”

“And you, Chowpereh?”

“Pay, bana; it is better to get along quietly in this country.

If we were strong enough they would pay us. Ah, if we had only

two hundred guns, how these Wahha would run!”

“What do you say, Mabruki?”

“Ah, master, dear master; it is very hard, and these people are

great robbers. I would like to chop their heads off, all; so I

would. But you had better pay. This is the last time; and what

are one hundred cloths to you?”

“Well, then, Bombay and Asmani, go to Mionvu, and offer him twenty.

If he will not take twenty, give him thirty. If he refuses thirty,

give him forty; then go up to eighty, slowly. Make plenty of talk;

not one doti more. I swear to you I will shoot Mionvu if he demands

more than eighty. Go, and remember to be wise.”

I will cut the matter short. At 9 P.M. sixty-four doti were

handed over to Mionvu, for the King of Uhha; six doti for

himself, and five doti for his sub; altogether seventy-five doti—

a bale and a quarter! No sooner had we paid than they began to

fight amongst themselves over the booty, and I was in hopes that

the factions would proceed to battle, that I might have good excuse

for leaving them, and plunging south to the jungle that I believed

existed there, by which means, under its friendly cover, we might

strike west. But no, it was only a verbose war, which portended

nothing more than a noisy clamor.

November 6th.—At dawn we were on the road, very silent and sad.

Our stock of cloth was much diminished; we had nine bales left,

sufficient to have taken us to the Atlantic Ocean—aided by the

beads, which were yet untouched—if we practised economy. If I

met many more like Mionvu I had not enough to take me to Ujiji,

and, though we were said to be so near, Livingstone seemed to me

to be just as far as ever.

We crossed the Pombwe, and then struck across a slowly-undulating

plain rising gradually to mountains on our right, and on our left

sinking towards the valley of the Malagarazi, which river was

about twenty miles away. Villages rose to our view everywhere.

Food was cheap, milk was plentiful, and the butter good.

After a four hours’ march, we crossed the Kanengi River, and

entered the boma of Kahirigi, inhabited by several Watusi and Wahha.

Here, we were told, lived the King of Uhha’s brother. This

announcement was anything but welcome, and I began to suspect I had

fallen into another hornets’ nest. We had not rested two hours

before two Wangwana entered my tent, who were slaves of Thani bin

Abdullah, our dandified friend of Unyanyembe. These men came, on

the part of the king’s brother, to claim the HONGA ! The king’s

brother, demanded thirty doti! Half a bale! Merciful Providence!

What shall I do?

We had been told by Mionvu that the honga of Uhha was settled—and

now here is another demand from the King’s brother! It is the

second time the lie has been told, and we have twice been deceived.

We shall be deceived no more.

These two men informed us there were five more chiefs, living but

two hours from each other, who would exact tribute, or blackmail,

like those we had seen. Knowing this much, I felt a certain calm.

It was far better to know the worst at once. Five more chiefs with

their demands would assuredly ruin us. In view of which, what is

to be done? How am I to reach Livingstone, without being beggared?

Dismissing the men, I called Bombay, and told him to assist Asmani

in settling the honga—” as cheaply as possible.” I then lit my

pipe, put on the cap of consideration, and began to think. Within

half an hour, I had made a plan, which was to be attempted to be

put in execution that very night.

I summoned the two slaves of Thani bin Abdullah, after the honga

had been settled to everybody’s satisfaction—though the profoundest

casuistries and diplomatic arguments failed to reduce it lower than

twenty-six doti—and began asking them about the possibility of

evading the tribute-taking Wahha ahead.

This rather astonished them at first, and they declared it to be

impossible; but, finally, after being pressed, they replied, that

one of their number should guide us at midnight, or a little after,

into the jungle which grew on the frontiers of Uhha and Uvinza. By

keeping a direct west course through this jungle until we came to

Ukaranga we might be enabled—we were told—to travel through Uhha

without further trouble. If I were willing to pay the guide

twelve doti, and if I were able to impose silence on my people

while passing through the sleeping village, the guide was positive

I could reach Ujiji without paying another doti. It is needless to

add, that I accepted the proffered assistance at such a price with

joy.

But there was much to be done. Provisions were to be purchased,

sufficient to last four days, for the tramp through the jungle,

and men were at once sent with cloth to purchase grain at any price.

Fortune favoured us, for before 8 P.M. we had enough for six days.

November 7th.—I did not go to sleep at all last night, but a

little after midnight, as the moon was beginning to show itself,

by gangs of four, the men stole quietly out of the village; and

by 3 A.M. the entire Expedition was outside the boma, and not the

slightest alarm had been made. After a signal to the new guide,

the Expedition began to move in a southern direction along the

right bank of the Kanengi River. After an hour’s march in this

direction, we struck west, across the grassy plain, and maintained

it, despite the obstacles we encountered, which were sore enough to

naked men. The bright moon lighted our path: dark clouds now and

then cast immense long shadows over the deserted and silent plains,

and the moonbeans were almost obscured, and at such times our

position seemed awful—

Till the moon.

Rising in clouded majesty, at length,

Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,

And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw.

Bravely toiled the men, without murmur, though their legs were

bleeding from the cruel grass. “Ambrosial morn” at last appeared,

with all its beautiful and lovely features. Heaven was born anew

to us, with comforting omens and cheery promise. The men, though

fatigued at the unusual travel, sped forward with quicker, pace as

daylight broke, until, at 8 A.M., we sighted the swift Rusugi River,

when a halt was ordered in a clump of jungle near it, for breakfast

and rest. Both banks of the river were alive with buffalo, eland,

and antelope, but, though the sight was very tempting, we did not

fire, because we dared not. The report of a gun would have alarmed

the whole country. I preferred my coffee, and the contentment which

my mind experienced at our success.

An hour after we had rested, some natives, carrying salt from the

Malagarazi, were seen coming up the right bank of the river. When

abreast of our hiding-place, they detected us, and dropping their

salt-bags, they took to their heels at once, shouting out as they

ran, to alarm some villages that appeared about four miles north of

us. The men were immediately ordered to take up their loads, and

in a few minutes we had crossed the Rusugi, and were making direct

for a bamboo jungle that appeared in our front. On, on, we kept

steadily until, at 1 P.M., we sighted the little lake of Musunya,

as wearied as possible with our nine hours march.

Lake Musunya is one of the many circular basins found in this part

of Uhha. There was quite a group of them. The more correct term

of these lakes would be immense pools. In the Masika season, Lake

Musunya must extend to three or four miles in length by two in breadth.

It swarms with hippopotami, and its shores abound with noble game.

We were very quiet, as may be imagined, in our bivouac; neither

tent nor hut was raised, nor was fire kindled, so that, in case of

pursuit, we could move off without delay. I kept my Winchester

rifle (the gift of my friend Mr. Morris, and a rare gift it was

for such a crisis) with its magazine full, and two hundred

cartridges in a bag slung over my shoulders. Each soldier’s gun

was also ready and loaded, and we retired to sleep our fatigues

off with a feeling of perfect security.

November 8th.—Long before dawn appeared, we were on the march, and,

as daylight broke, we emerged from the bamboo jungle, and struck

across the naked plain of Uhha, once more passing several large

pools by the way—far-embracing prospects of undulating country,

with here and there a characteristic clump of trees relieving the

general nudity of the whole. Hour after hour we toiled on,

across the rolling land waves, the sun shining with all its wonted

African fervor, but with its heat slightly tempered by the

welcome breezes, which came laden with the fragrance of young

grass, and perfume of strange flowers of various hues, that flecked

the otherwise pale-green sheet which extended so far around us.

We arrived at the Rugufu River—not the Ukawendi Rugufu, but the

northern stream of that name, a tributary of the Malagarazi. It

was a broad shallow stream, and sluggish, with an almost imperceptible

flow southwest. While we halted in the deep shade afforded by a

dense clump of jungle, close to the right bank, resting awhile before

continuing our journey. I distinctly heard a sound as of distant

thunder in the west. Upon asking if it were thunder, I was told it

was Kabogo.

“Kabogo? what is that?”

“It is a great mountain on the other side of the Tanganika, full

of deep holes, into which the water rolls; and when there is wind

on the Tanganika, there is a sound like mvuha (thunder). Many

boats have been lost there, and it is a custom with Arabs and

natives to throw cloth—Merikani and Kaniki—and especially white

(Merikani) beads, to appease the mulungu (god) of the lake.

Those who throw beads generally get past without trouble,

but those who do not throw beads into the lake get lost, and are

drowned. Oh, it is a dreadful place!” This story was told me by

the ever-smiling guide Asmani, and was corroborated by other

former mariners of the lake whom I had with me.

At the least, this place where we halted for dinner, on the banks

of the Rugufu River, is eighteen and a half hours, or forty-six

miles, from Ujiji; and, as Kabogo is said to be near Uguhha, it

must be over sixty miles from Ujiji; therefore the sound of the

thundering surf, which is said to roll into the caves of Kabogo,

was heard by us at a distance of over one hundred miles away from

them.

Continuing our journey for three hours longer, through thin

forests, over extensive beds of primitive rock, among fields of

large boulders thickly strewn about, passing by numerous herds

of buffalo, giraffe, and zebra, over a quaking quagmire which

resembled