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

After the evening meal, which replenished my failing strength, and

for which I felt the intensest gratitude, the most advanced of the

pupils came forward, to the number of twenty, with brass instruments,

thus forming a full band of music. It rather astonished me to hear

instrumental sounds issue forth in harmony from such woolly-headed

youngsters; to hear well-known French music at this isolated port,

to hear negro boys, that a few months ago knew nothing beyond the

traditions of their ignorant mothers, stand forth and chant

Parisian songs about French valor and glory, with all the

sangfroid of gamins from the purlieus of Saint-Antoine.

I had a most refreshing night’s rest, and at dawn I sought out

my camp, with a will to enjoy the new life now commencing. On

counting the animals, two donkeys were missing; and on taking

notes of my African moneys, one coil of No. 6 wire was not to be

found. Everybody had evidently fallen on the ground to sleep,

oblivious of the fact that on the coast there are many dishonest

prowlers at night. Soldiers were despatched to search through

the town and neighbourhood, and Jemadar Esau was apprised of

our loss, and stimulated to discover the animals by the promise

of a reward. Before night one of the missing donkeys was found

outside the town nibbling at manioc-leaves, but the other animal

and the coil of wire were never found.

Among my visitors this first day at Bagamoyo was Ali bin Salim,

a brother of the famous Sayd bin Salim, formerly Ras Kafilah to

Burton and Speke, and subsequently to Speke and Grant. His

salaams were very profuse, and moreover, his brother was to be my

agent in Unyamwezi, so that I did not hesitate to accept his offer

of assistance. But, alas, for my white face and too trustful

nature! this Ali bin Salim turned out to be a snake in the grass,

a very sore thorn in my side. I was invited to his comfortable

house to partake of coffee. I went there: the coffee was good

though sugarless, his promises were many, but they proved valueless.

Said he to me, “I am your friend; I wish to serve you., what can

I do for you?” Replied I, “I am obliged to you, I need a good

friend who, knowing the language and Customs of the Wanyamwezi,

can procure me the pagazis I need and send me off quickly. Your

brother is acquainted with the Wasungu (white men), and knows

that what they promise they make good. Get me a hundred and

forty pagazis and I will pay you your price.” With unctuous

courtesy, the reptile I was now warmly nourishing; said,

“I do not want anything from you, my friend, for such a slight

service, rest content and quiet; you shall not stop here fifteen

days. Tomorrow morning I will come and overhaul your bales to

see what is needed.” I bade him good morning, elated with the

happy thought that I was soon to tread the Unyanyembe road.

The reader must be made acquainted with two good and sufficient

reasons why I was to devote all my energy to lead the Expedition

as quickly as possible from Bagamoyo.

First, I wished to reach Ujiji before the news reached Livingstone

that I was in search of him, for my impression of him was that he

was a man who would try to put as much distance as possible

between us, rather than make an effort to shorten it, and I should

have my long journey for nothing.

Second, the Masika, or rainy season, would soon be on me, which, if

it caught me at Bagamoyo, would prevent my departure until it was

over, which meant a delay of forty days, and exaggerated as the

rains were by all men with whom I came in contact, it rained every

day for forty days without intermission. This I knew was a thing

to dread; for I had my memory stored with all kinds of rainy

unpleasantnesses. For instance, there was the rain of Virginia and

its concomitant horrors—wetness, mildew, agues, rheumatics,

and such like; then there were the English rains, a miserable drizzle

causing the blue devils; then the rainy season of Abyssinia with the

flood-gates of the firmament opened, and an universal down-pour of

rain, enough to submerge half a continent in a few hours; lastly,

there was the pelting monsoon of India, a steady shut-in-house

kind of rain. To which of these rains should I compare this

dreadful Masika of East Africa? Did not Burton write much about

black mud in Uzaramo? Well, a country whose surface soil is

called black mud in fine weather, what can it be called when forty

days’ rain beat on it, and feet of pagazis and donkeys make paste

of it? These were natural reflections, induced by the circumstances

of the hour, and I found myself much exercised in mind in consequence.

Ali bin Salim, true to his promise, visited my camp on the morrow,

with a very important air, and after looking at the pile of cloth

bales, informed me that I must have them covered with mat-bags. He

said he would send a man to have them measured, but he enjoined me

not to make any bargain for the bags, as he would make it all

right.

While awaiting with commendable patience the 140 pagazis

promised by Ali bin Salim we were all employed upon everything

that thought could suggest needful for crossing the sickly

maritime region, so that we might make the transit before the

terrible fever could unnerve us, and make us joyless. A short

experience at Bagamoya showed us what we lacked, what was

superfluous, and what was necessary. We were visited one night

by a squall, accompanied by furious rain. I had $1,500 worth

of pagazi cloth in my tent. In the morning I looked and lo!

the drilling had let in rain like a sieve, and every yard of cloth

was wet. It occupied two days afterwards to dry the cloths, and

fold them again. The drill-tent was condemned, and a No. 5

hemp-canvas tent at onto prepared. After which I felt convinced

that my cloth bales, and one year’s ammunition, were safe, and

that I could defy the Masika.

In the hurry of departure from Zanzibar, and in my ignorance of

how bales should be made, I had submitted to the better judgment

and ripe experience of one Jetta, a commission merchant, to prepare

my bales for carriage. Jetta did not weigh the bales as he made

them up, but piled the Merikani, Kaniki, Barsati, Jamdani, Joho,

Ismahili, in alternate layers, and roped the same into bales.

One or two pagazis came to my camp and began to chaffer; they

wished to see the bales first, before they would make a final

bargain. They tried to raise them up—ugh! ugh! it was of no use,

and withdrew. A fine Salter’s spring balance was hung up, and a

bale suspended to the hook; the finger indicated 105 lbs. or

3 frasilah, which was just 35 lbs. or one frasilah overweight.

Upon putting all the bales to this test, I perceived that Jetta’s

guess-work, with all his experience, had caused considerable

trouble to me.

The soldiers were set to work to reopen and repack, which latter

task is performed in the following manner:—We cut a doti, or four

yards of Merikani, ordinarily sold at Zanzibar for $2.75 the

piece of thirty yards, and spread out. We take a piece or bolt

of good Merikani, and instead of the double fold given it by the

Nashua and Salem mills, we fold it into three parts, by which the

folds have a breadth of a foot; this piece forms the first layer,

and will weigh nine pounds; the second layer consists of six pieces

of Kaniki, a blue stuff similar to the blouse stuff of France, and

th blue jeans of America, though much lighter; the third layer is

formed of the second piece of Merikani, the fourth of six more

pieces of Kaniki, the fifth of Merikani, the sixth of Kaniki as

before, and the seventh and last of Merikani. We have thus four

pieces of Merikani, which weigh 36 lbs., and 18 pieces of Kaniki

weighing also 36 lbs., making a total of 72 lbs., or a little

more than two frasilahs; the cloth is then folded singly over these

layers, each corner tied to another. A bundle of coir-rope is

then brought, and two men, provided with a wooden mallet for

beating and pressing the bale, proceed to tie it up with as much

nicety as sailors serve down rigging.

When complete, a bale is a solid mass three feet and a half long,

a foot deep, and a foot wide. Of these bales I had to convey

eighty-two to Unyanyembe, forty of which consisted solely of the

Merikani and Kaniki. The other forty-two contained the Merikani

and coloured cloths, which latter were to serve as honga or tribute

cloths, and to engage another set of pagazis from Unyanyembe to

Ujiji, and from Ujiji to the regions beyond.

The fifteenth day asked of me by Ali bin Salim for the procuring

of the pagazis passed by, and there was not the ghost of a pagazi

in my camp. I sent Mabruki the Bullheaded to Ali bin Salim, to

convey my salaams and express a hope that he had kept his word.

In half an hour’s time Mabruki returned with the reply of the

Arab, that in a few days he would be able to collect them all;

but, added Mabruki, slyly, “Bana, I don’t believe him. He said

aloud to himself, in my hearing, `Why should I get the Musungu

pagazis? Seyd Burghash did not send a letter to me, but to the

Jemadar. Why should I trouble myself about him? Let Seyd

Burghash write me a letter to that purpose, and I will procure

them within two days.”’

To my mind this was a time for action: Ali bin Salim should see

that it was ill trifling with a white man in earnest to start.

I rode down to his house to ask him what he meant.

His reply was, Mabruki had told a lie as black as his face. He

had never said anything approaching to such a thing. He was

willing to become my slave—to become a pagazi himself. But here I

stopped the voluble Ali, and informed him that I could not think of

employing him in the capacity of a pagazi, neither could I find it

in my heart to trouble Seyd Burghash to write a direct letter to

him, or to require of a man who had deceived me once, as Ali bin

Salim had, any service of any nature whatsoever. It would be

better, therefore, if Ali bin Salim would stay away from my

camp, and not enter it either in person or by proxy.

I had lost fifteen days, for Jemadar Sadur, at Kaole, had never

stirred from his fortified house in that village in my service,

save to pay a visit, after the receipt of the Sultan’s letter.

Naranji, custom-house agent at Kaoie, solely under the thumb of

the great Ludha Damji, had not responded to Ludha’s worded request

that he would procure pagazis, except with winks, nods, and

promises, and it is but just stated how I fared at the hands of Ali

bin Salim. In this extremity I remembered the promise made to me

by the great merchant of Zanzibar—Tarya Topan—a Mohammedan

Hindi—that he would furnish me with a letter to a young man named

Soor Hadji Palloo, who was said to be the best man in Bagamoyo to

procure a supply of pagazis.

I despatched my Arab interpreter by a dhow to Zanzibar,