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

shown himself well disposed towards me.

The palace is a large, roomy, lofty, square house close to the

fort, built of coral, and plastered thickly with lime mortar.

In appearance it is half Arabic and half Italian. The shutters

are Venetian blinds painted a vivid green, and presenting a

striking contrast to the whitewashed walls. Before the great,

lofty, wide door were ranged in two crescents several Baluch and

Persian mercenaries, armed with curved swords and targes of

rhinoceros hide. Their dress consisted of a muddy-white cotton

shirt, reaching to the ancles, girdled with a leather belt thickly

studded with silver bosses.

As we came in sight a signal was passed to some person inside the

entrance. When within twenty yards of the door, the Sultan, who

was standing waiting, came down the steps, and, passing through the

ranks, advanced toward us, with his right hand stretched out, and a

genial smile of welcome on his face. On our side we raised our

hats, and shook hands with him, after which, doing according as he

bade us, we passed forward, and arrived on the highest step near

the entrance door. He pointed forward; we bowed and arrived at

the foot of an unpainted and narrow staircase to turn once more to

the Sultan. The Consul, I perceived, was ascending sideways, a

mode of progression which I saw was intended for a compromise with

decency and dignity. At the top of the stairs we waited, with

our faces towards the up-coming Prince. Again we were waved

magnanimously forward, for before us was the reception-hall and

throne-room. I noticed, as I marched forward to the furthest end,

that the room was high, and painted in the Arabic style, that the

carpet was thick and of Persian fabric, that the furniture consisted

of a dozen gilt chairs and a chandelier,

We were seated; Ludha Damji, the Banyan collector of customs, a

venerable-looking old man, with a shrewd intelligent face, sat on

the right of the Sultan; next to him was the great Mohammedan

merchant Tarya Topan who had come to be present at the interview,

not only because he was one of the councillors of His Highness,

but because he also took a lively interest in this American

Expedition. Opposite to Ludha sat Capt. Webb, and next to him

I was seated, opposite Tarya Topan. The Sultan sat in a gilt chair

between the Americans and the councillors. Johari the dragoman

stood humbly before the Sultan, expectant and ready to interpret

what we had to communicate to the Prince.

The Sultan, so far as dress goes, might be taken for a Mingrelian

gentleman, excepting, indeed, for the turban, whose ample folds in

alternate colours of red, yellow, brown, and white, encircled his

head. His long robe was of dark cloth, cinctured round the waist

with his rich sword-belt, from which was suspended a gold-hilted

scimitar, encased in a scabbard also enriched with gold: His legs

and feet were bare, and had a ponderous look about them, since he

suffered from that strange curse of Zanzibar—elephantiasis. His

feet were slipped into a pair of watta (Arabic for slippers), with

thick soles and a strong leathern band over the instep. His light

complexion and his correct features, which are intelligent and

regular, bespeak the Arab patrician. They indicate, however,

nothing except his high descent and blood; no traits of character

are visible unless there is just a trace of amiability, and perfect

contentment with himself and all around.

Such is Prince, or Seyd Burghash, Sultan of Zanzibar and Pemba, and

the East coast of Africa, from Somali Land to the Mozambique, as he

appeared to me.

Coffee was served in cups supported by golden finjans, also some

cocoa-nut milk, and rich sweet sherbet.

The conversation began with the question addressed to the Consul.

“Are you well?”

Consul.—” Yes, thank you. How is His Highness?”

Highness.—“Quite well!”

Highness to me.—“Are you well?”

Answer.—“Quite well, thanks!”

The Consul now introduces business; and questions about my travels

follow from His Highness—

“How do you like Persia?”

“Have you seen Kerbela, Bagdad, Masr, Stamboul?”

“Have the Turks many soldiers?”

“How many has Persia?”

“Is Persia fertile?”

“How do you like Zanzibar?”

Having answered each question to his Highness’ satisfaction, he

handed me letters of introduction to his officers at Bagamoyo and

Kaole, and a general introductory letter to all Arab merchants

whom I might meet on the road, and concluded his remarks to me,

with the expressed hope, that on whatever mission I was bound,

I should be perfectly successful.

We bowed ourselves out of his presence in much the same manner that

we had bowed ourselves in, he accompanying us to the great entrance

door.

Mr. Goodhue of Salem, an American merchant long resident in

Zanzibar, presented me, as I gave him my adieu, with a blooded bay

horse, imported from the Cape of Good Hope, and worth, at least at

Zanzibar, $500.

Feb. 4.—By the 4th of February, twenty-eight days from the date

of my arrival at Zanzibar, the organization and equipment of the

“`New York Herald’ Expedition” was complete; tents and saddles had

been manufactured, boats and sails were ready. The donkeys brayed,

and the horses neighed impatiently for the road.

Etiquette demanded that I should once more present my card to the

European and American Consuls at Zanzibar, and the word “farewell”

was said to everybody.

On the fifth day, four dhows were anchored before the American

Consulate. Into one were lifted the two horses, into two others

the donkeys, into the fourth, the largest, the black escort, and

bulky moneys of the Expedition.

A little before noon we set sail. The American flag, a present to

the Expedition by that kind-hearted lady, Mrs. Webb, was raised

to the mast-head; the Consul, his lady, and exuberant little

children, Mary and Charley, were on the housetop waving the starry

banner, hats, and handkerchiefs, a token of farewell to me and

mine. Happy people, and good! may their course and ours be

prosperous, and may God’s blessing rest on us all!

CHAPTER IV. LIFE AT BAGAMOYO.

The isle of Zanzibar with its groves of cocoa-nut, mango, clove,

and cinnamon, and its sentinel islets of Chumbi and French, with

its whitewashed city and jack-fruit odor, with its harbor and ships

that tread the deep, faded slowly from view, and looking westward,

the African continent rose, a similar bank of green verdure to

that which had just receded till it was a mere sinuous line above

the horizon, looming in a northerly direction to the sublimity of

a mountain chain. The distance across from Zanzibar to Bagamoyo

may be about twenty-five miles, yet it took the dull and lazy

dhows ten hours before they dropped anchor on the top of the

coral reef plainly visible a few feet below the surface of the

water, within a hundred yards of the beach.

The newly-enlisted soldiers, fond of noise and excitement,

discharged repeated salvos by way of a salute to the mixed

crowd of Arabs, Banyans, and Wasawahili, who stood on the beach

to receive the Musungu (white man), which they did with a general

stare and a chorus of “Yambo, bana?” (how are you, master?)

In our own land the meeting with a large crowd is rather a tedious

operation, as our independent citizens insist on an interlacing of

fingers, and a vigorous shaking thereof before their pride is

satisfied, and the peaceful manifestation endorsed; but on this

beach, well lined with spectators, a response of “Yambo, bana!”

sufficed, except with one who of all there was acknowledged the

greatest, and who, claiming, like all great men, individual

attention, came forward to exchange another “Yambo!” on his own

behalf, and to shake hands. This personage with a long trailing

turban, was Jemadar Esau, commander of the Zanzibar force of

soldiers, police, or Baluch gendarmes stationed at Bagamoyo.

He had accompanied Speke and Grant a good distance into the

interior, and they had rewarded him liberally. He took upon

himself the responsibility of assisting in the debarkation of

the Expedition, and unworthy as was his appearance, disgraceful

as he was in his filth, I here commend him for his influence

over the rabble to all future East African travellers.

Foremost among those who welcomed us was a Father of the Society

of St.-Esprit, who with other Jesuits, under Father Superior

Horner, have established a missionary post of considerable

influence and merit at Bagamoyo. We were invited to partake of

the hospitality of the Mission, to take our meals there, and,

should we desire it, to pitch our camp on their grounds. But

however strong the geniality of the welcome and sincere the

heartiness of the invitation, I am one of those who prefer

independence to dependence if it is possible. Besides, my

sense of the obligation between host and guest had just had

a fine edge put upon it by the delicate forbearance of my kind

host at Zanzibar, who had betrayed no sign of impatience at the

trouble I was only too conscious of having caused him. I

therefore informed the hospitable Padre, that only for one night

could I suffer myself to be enticed from my camp.

I selected a house near the western outskirts of the town, where

there is a large open square through which the road from Unyanyembe

enters. Had I been at Bagamoyo a month, I could not have bettered

my location. My tents were pitched fronting the tembe (house) I

had chosen, enclosing a small square, where business could be

transacted, bales looked over, examined, and marked, free from the

intrusion of curious sightseers. After driving the twenty-seven

animals of the Expedition into the enclosure in the rear of the

house, storing the bales of goods, and placing a cordon of soldiers

round, I proceeded to the Jesuit Mission, to a late dinner, being

tired and ravenous, leaving the newly-formed camp in charge of the

white men and Capt. Bombay.

The Mission is distant from the town a good half mile, to the

north of it; it is quite a village of itself, numbering some

fifteen or sixteen houses. There are more than ten padres engaged

in the establishment, and as many sisters, and all find plenty of

occupation in educing from native crania the fire of intelligence.

Truth compels me to state that they are very successful, having

over two hundred pupils, boys and girls, in the Mission, and,

from the oldest to the youngest, they show the impress of the

useful education they have received.

The dinner furnished to the padres and their guest consisted of as

many plats as a first-class hotel in Paris usually supplies, and

cooked with nearly as much skill, though the surroundings were by

no means equal. I feel assured also that the padres, besides being

tasteful in their potages and entrees, do not stultify their ideas

for lack of that element which Horace, Hafiz, and Byron have

praised so much. The champagne—think of champagne Cliquot in East

Africa!—Lafitte, La Rose, Burgundy, and Bordeaux were of

first-rate quality, and the meek and lowly eyes of the fathers

were not a little brightened under the vinous influence. Ah! those

fathers understand life, and appreciate its duration. Their

festive board drives the African jungle fever from their doors,

while it soothes the gloom and isolation which strike one with awe,

as one emerges from the lighted room and plunges into the depths

of the darkness of an African night, enlivened only by the wearying

monotone of the frogs and crickets, and the distant ululation of

the hyena. It requires somewhat above human effort, unaided by the

ruby liquid that cheers, to be always suave and polite amid the

dismalities