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Title: Zanzibar; City, Island, and Coast. Vol. 2 (of 2)
Author: Burton, Richard Francis, Sir
Language: English
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ZANZIBAR.
VOL. II.
[Illustration: SAVAGE OF THE NYIKA.]
ZANZIBAR;
CITY, ISLAND, AND COAST.
BY
RICHARD F. BURTON.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE ST., STRAND.
1872.
[_All Rights reserved._]
---------------------
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS. .
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
FROM ZANZIBAR TO MOMBASAH 1
CHAPTER II.
MOMBASAH OR MVÍTA 23
CHAPTER III.
VISIT TO THE KISULODI-NI MISSION HOUSE 47
CHAPTER IV.
THE PEOPLE OF MOMBASAH.—THE WANYIKA TRIBE 75
CHAPTER V.
FROM MOMBASAH TO THE PANGA-NI RIVER 104
CHAPTER VI.
FROM PANGA-NI TOWN TO TONGWE OUTPOST.—THE BALOCH GUARD 139
CHAPTER VII.
THE MARCH TO FUGA.—ASCENT OF THE HIGHLANDS OF EAST 183
AFRICA.—PRESENTATION TO KING KIMWERE
CHAPTER VIII.
THE MARCH BACK.—THE HIPPOPOTAMUS’ HUNT.—THE RETURN TO 222
ZANZIBAR
CHAPTER IX.
VISIT TO SA’ADANI, THE COPAL FIELD 260
CHAPTER X.
THE EAST AFRICAN EXPEDITION OF 1857-1859 283
CHAPTER XI.
TO KILWA, THE END OF THE EAST AFRICAN EXPEDITION 329
(1857-1859)
CHAPTER XII.
CAPTAIN SPEKE 371
APPENDIX I.
NOTES ON COMMERCIAL MATTERS AT ZANZIBAR IN THE YEARS 405
1857-1859
APPENDIX II. A. B.
THERMOMETRIC OBSERVATIONS IN EAST AFRICA 426
APPENDIX II. C.
METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS 433
APPENDIX III.
OBSERVATIONS DURING A VOYAGE OF RESEARCH ON THE EAST 458
COAST OF AFRICA
NOTES TO APPENDIX III. 514
ZANZIBAR.
--------------
PART II.
THE COAST AND THE INTERIOR.
ZANZIBAR.
-------
CHAPTER I.
FROM ZANZIBAR TO MOMBASAH.
Urbis ab angusto tractu quâ vergit in Austrum,
Planities vicina patet: nam cætera Pontus
Circuit, exiguo dirimi se tramite passus.
C. CLAUD, IN RUF. lib. 2. 348.
On Monday, January 5, 1857, began our trial trip, which homely term was
justly written large as ‘tentative expedition,’ by the then President of
the Royal Geographical Society. But a stiff north-easter blowing dead in
our teeth, the crew of the Riámi would not wear round by day, and at
night all showed a predilection for the ‘Safar khoriyah,’ i. e.
anchoring in some snug bay. Consequently the old tub, with knees and
mast loose like a slaver’s, did not make Kokoto-ni, the usual departure
point from Zanzibar Island, till 7 A. M. on January 8.
Kokoto-ni ‘(at or in) the pebbles,’ is an anchorage 18.30 direct
geographical miles from, and north with 3 miles east of, Zanzibar City.
Formed by a bight with a streamlet, and the Island of Tumbatu, with its
little outliers, Manawamána and Popo (in Owen Moina and Benoth), this
roadstead is rendered dangerous during the Azyab, or N. East monsoon, by
a heavy rolling sea and a coral-bound lee-shore. The coast has the usual
edging of sand, clear as crystal, and of bright green mangrove, whilst
an inner belt of darker jungle defends a country, here, as everywhere
around, prodigiously fertile, green, and monotonous. The interior is a
mass of cultivation, manioc and sweet potato (Jezar) from Madagascar,
superb mangoes and cocoas waving in the clear sea-breeze, and limes and
oranges, the latter disposed, as by the Paraguayans, in long rows,
which, at a distance, imitate the tea-field. Clove plantations adorn the
uplands, and the giant Calabash (Adansonia digitata) stretches its
stumpy, crooked arms over the clustering huts. The tree is at once
majestic and grotesque; the tall conical column of spongy and porous
wood, covered with a soft, glossy rind, which supplies half Africa with
bast, will have a girth of forty to fifty feet, far exceeding the cedars
of Lebanon, whilst the general aspect is that of a giant asparagus. Like
the arbutus, some trees will be bare, others in leaf, and others in
flower, all at the same season. When thickly clothed with foliage
growing almost stalkless from the wood; topped with snowy blossoms, like
the fairest and lightest of water-lilies, and hung about with four or
five hundred gourds; ovals somewhat larger than a cocoa-nut, dressed in
green velvet with the nap on, and attached by a long thin cord, like
tassels which wave with every breath of the zephyr, its appearance is
striking as it is novel. Nothing, in fact, after the negro can be more
typically and distinctly African.
Escorted by Said bin Salim and his slave, we visited the village Mwándá.
It is the normal collection of cajan-thatched huts, with wattle and dab
walls, gathering round a little Mosque and grave-yard. There are no
stone dwellings, but scatters of such hovels extend far and wide. The
settlement was mostly tenanted by women who hid themselves, by children
who ran away, and by slave-girls who squatted, combing and plaiting one
another’s locks; these grinned merrily enough, having nought to fear.
The faces were hideous to look upon, with black, coarse skins, scarred
and seamed by small-pox; huge mouths, and rolling eyes. Not a few were
lame and toothless, and the general dress was the ungraceful swaddle of
blue, checked or indigo-dyed stuff. Presently we were addressed by an
old man, carrying a spear, and attired in Arab fashion, of red cap,
loin-cloth (Futah), and Tobe (Taub), or shoulder-scarf. Taking us for
traders, who came to buy cocoa and cloves, he placed a Kitandah (cot)
under the central calabash, the gossip-place of the village, and brought
us cocoanut-water, which here takes the place of coffee. In vain we
offered high prices for meat; geese, ducks, and fowls, however, were
abundant.
After a short rest we set out northwards, to inspect the plantations.
Most of the men were at work in their Mashamba; the weeds had been
burned for manure, the primitive manner of restoring nutrition to the
soil, and the peasant, with his rude implements, was smoothing the
lowlands for paddy. Already the light showers of the Azyab had flooded
the ground, and the stagnant stream which we forded was choked with rush
and sedge. A ‘Tell,’ or dwarf rise, was occupied by a farm belonging to
the late Sayyid; here we were again seated and supplied with mangoes.
This fruit, curious to say, would never fall upon the Prince’s head,
although his courtiers often suffered severe contusions—at least, so we
were assured.
After a long walk, which crippled my naked arms and legs with sunburns,
we returned to the shore, and Said complaining, with a visage like
Falstaff’s ‘wet cloak ill-laid up,’ that never before had he endured
such fatigue, we signalled the Riámi for a boat. It was five hours
coming, the wind blew off shore, and we had some trouble in persuading
certain Tumbatu men to carry off the party of six in a monoxyle, a
single log of wood, propelled by a scarf. A few dates and a dollar sent
them back happy, and the Riámi had used her time well in washing decks
and taking in water.
The weather now set seriously against us. The thermometer fell some 5°
(F.), and heavy showers, mostly in the morning, wetted us clean through,
despite all precautions. Lightning from the N. West appeared; the ‘egg
of the cloud’ showed the focus of electric matter, and tornados, exactly
resembling those of the Guinea coast, made the crew down sail, and
satisfy themselves with one knot an hour. They had a peculiar style of
keeping watch; all sat up singing till 10-11 P. M., after which every
man slept as unanimously. The only waker was poor Said, who with red
eyes and peeling nose suffered crispations when the squalls came on.
About 9 A. M. (January 10) we sighted for the first time Pemba, the
Emerald Isle of these Eastern Seas; and after three days’ stumbling over
33 miles from Kokoto-ni, Pemba channel, with the hills of the Mrima
clear on our left, appeared at 3 P. M. To the right rose the tree-grown
banks, and the verdant coral-ledges, which have given a name to the
Green Island of the Arabs. Except from the mast-head it is invisible at
an offing of 12 miles, this forest-clump emerging from the blue and
buoyant wave, and therefore it was neglected by the Periplus. In A. D.
1698 the bold buccaneer Captain Kidd here buried his blood-stained
hoards of gold and jewels, the plunder of India and of the further
Orient. The people have found pots of ‘nuggets,’ probably intended for
buttons, in order that the pirate might wear his wealth. Thus it is that
the modern skipper, landing at Madagascar, or other robber haunts of the
older day, still frequently witnesses the disappearance of his brass
buttons, whilst the edge of a knife resting upon his throat secures the
quiescence essential to the rapid performance of the operation.
The complicated entrance to Chak-Chak, or Shak-Shak as the Arabs call
it, the chief port, fort, and town, has that silent, monotonous,
melancholy beauty, the loveliness of death, which belongs to the creeks
and rivers of those regions. The air was pure and sparkling; a light
breeze played with the little blue waves; the beach, wherever it
appeared, was of the purest golden hue, creamed over with the whitest of
foam; and luxuriant trees of the brightest green drooped from their
coralline beds over a sea, here deeply azure, there verdigris coloured
by the sun shining through it upon a sand-shoal. But animated nature was
wanting: we heard not a voice, we saw no inhabitant—all was profoundly
still, a great green grave. A chain of islets forms the approach to a
creek, below all mangrove and black vegetable mud, which stains the
water, and bears roots upsticking like a system of harrows; above on
both sides are rounded swelling hillocks, crowned with the cocoa and the
clove. We sailed about on various tacks, and near sunset we anchored in
the outer port, four or five miles distant from the town. On a wooded
eminence rose the white walls and the tall tower of Fort Chak-Chak,
standing boldly out from its dark green background, and apparently
commanded by higher land, nowhere, however, exceeding 150 feet, while
the spars of an Arab craft peered above the curtained trees. With the
distinctest remembrance of Indian rivers, my companion and I could not
but wonder at the scene before us.
Early on the next morning we manned the Louisa, and rowed slowly through
a gate, formed on the right by Ra’as Kululu, and on the left by a high
plantation Ra’as Bannani. It led to a broad, deep basin, where two or
three Sayas, small Arab vessels, not wishing to approach the town, lay
at anchor. After a couple of hours, during which progress was of the
mildest, we entered a narrow creek, bordered by a luxuriant growth of
mangroves. The black and fœtid sea-ooze, softer than mud, which supports
these forests of the sea, contrasts strangely with the gay green of
their foliage, and the place was haunted by terns, grey kingfishers, and
hawks of black and white robe, big as the ‘Ak-baba,’ and said to be game
birds. Here and there a tall man paddled a tiny canoe, and an old slave
woman went to catch fish with a body-cloth, used as a net: she suggested
the venerable comparison of the letter S mounted on ‘No. 11.’ The old
Arab geographers seem to have been struck by the piscatorial
peculiarities of these coasts. El Idrisi (1st climate, 7th section)
informs us that ‘the people supply themselves from the sea without craft
or without standing upon the shore. They use, whilst swimming or diving,
little nets which they themselves make of woven grass; they tie them to
their feet, and by slip-knots and lashings held in their hands, they
draw fast the snare when they feel that a fish has entered it. All this
they do with exceeding art and with a cunning bred by long experience:
they also teach land reptiles to drive their prey’—possibly the iguana.
The tide, which hereabouts rises from twelve to thirteen feet, was then
rapidly ebbing. At high water large boats run up under the walls of
Chak-Chak; during the ebb the creek within several yards of the
landing-place is a quaking bog, which receives a man to his waist. After
three hours of persistent grounding, and nearly despairing to reach our
mark, a sharp turn showed us the fort almost above our heads: we
disembarked and waded up to the landing-place.
Ascending the sea-slope, I was struck, even after Goa and Zanzibar, by
the wondrous fertility of the land. All that meets the eye is luscious
green; cocoas, jacks, limes, and the pyramidal mangoes grow in clumps
upon the rises; the wild solanum with bright yellow apples, and the
castor shrub, rich in berries, spread over the uncultivated slopes;
excellent rice, of which the Island formerly paid tribute, clothes the
lowlands, and the little fields bear crops of holcus and sesamum,
vetches as Thur (Cajanus Indicus), Mung (Phaseolus radiatus), and Chana
or Gram (Cicer arietinum), with manioc, and many species of garden-stuff
and fruit-trees, especially oranges and citrons. The eternal
humidity—páni jo ghano sukh, say the Banyans—unfavourable to human,
fosters vegetable development in a luxuriance more oppressive than
admirable. After a few minutes’ climb we entered Chak-Chak, which, like
a Brazilian country-town, consists of one long narrow lane. It is formed
by square huts of wattle and dab, raised upon platforms of tamped clay:
each tenement has a ‘but’ and a ‘ben,’ and most are fronted by a deep
verandah, where poultry, fruit, and stale fish are exposed for sale by
many familiar faces hailing from Hindostan.
My first visit was to the Wali or Governor, Mohammed bin Nasif bin
Khalaf. In his absence at Zanzibar, we were received by his brother
Sulayman, who lay upon his bed shaking with fever: the house was like
its neighbours, and the verandah was partly occupied by a wooden
ship’s-tank. We then took refuge against the sun at the shed called
Place of Customs, where we were duly welcomed, whilst cloves were being
weighed by the slaves. The Collector of government dues was a nephew of
Ladha Damha, this Pisuji was at the head of some ten Bhattias: they are
readily distinguished by red conical fools’ caps, and by their Indian
Dhotis, or loin-cloths. His reception was far more cordial than it would
have been in his own land, where Banyans are by no means famous for
hospitality to the Mlenchha, or outcaste. We determined him to be an
exceptional man, but afterwards, on the coast, we received the same
civilities from all the Hindu and almost all the Hindi (Moslem)
merchants. Pisu reproached Saíd for not landing us last night, seated us
on cots, and served upon a wooden tray sliced mango and pineapple, rice,
ghee, and green tea. An old Sindi tailor, Fakir Mohammed, son of a petty
officer who had served as a Turkish gunner in Yemen, brought a bottle,
and invited us to carouse with ‘wuh safed,’ that white one—probably gin.
Our refusal to taste it did us good service with the Sherif Mohammed, a
Hazramaut man, educated in Sind, and chief of the 25 to 30 Indians who
compose the little colony. We were visited by the Jemadar, Musa Khan,
who commands a score of Baloch mercenaries, readily distinguished by
close-fitting lips and oval heads in this land of muzzles and cocoa-nut
skulls. They greatly admired our weapons, specially my basket-hilted
Andrea Ferrara, the gift of an old friend, Archibald McLaren, and one
young fellow volunteered to accompany us up country. The Wasawahili were
the least civil; they heard that certain Muzungu Kafirs had visited
their town, and came to stare accordingly.
The good Pisu sent for our casks, and had them filled from the Mto-ni,
behind the fort. This streamlet, some 15 feet broad and armpit deep,
supplies water far superior to that of the wells and the brackish
produce of the sands near the anchorage ground. Finally, he accompanied
us, with the chief notables, to the landing-place, and sent us off in
his own boat, which he had loaded with rice and fruits.
Pemba is an irregular coralline bank, composed of some 15 or 20 smaller
items, covered with the richest vegetable humus. It is, in fact, an
archipelago growing up into an island. Like Zanzibar, it is a low bank
perched upon the summits of submarine mountains, which rise from depths
not yet fathomed. Its extreme length is 42 miles, from Ra’as Kigomathe
(Kegomatchy of Owen), the N. West point in S. lat. 4° 47′, and Ra’as
Msuka (Said Point), in S. lat. 5° 29′ 30″. The long narrow steep varies
in breadth from 2 to 10 miles (Owen), between E. long. (G.) 39° 39′, and
39° 48′, to which 5′ must be added since Bombay[1] and the Cape of Good
Hope have been found to be placed that much too far west. Ra’as
Kigomathe, the point nearest the mainland, is separated from it by Pemba
Channel, here 19 to 20 miles broad, and the greatest width is 35 miles.
The western sea-board, where calmer waters under a lea land favour the
labours of the polypus, is evidently advancing rapidly, and here the
coast-line is notably broken compared with that of Zanzibar and with its
own eastern or windward coast. In this point it resembles Jutland,
Iceland, and Norway, where the S. West, a prevalent wind, tears to
pieces the occidental shores, and deposits the débris upon the leeward
half. The reefs and shoals, branching in all directions, but especially
westward, are still unexplored, and every ship that sounds does new
work. The height of the Island nowhere exceeds 180 feet, and the soil is
purely vegetable. The streamlets are not worth mentioning, and the
general unimportance of the long narrow bank unfits it for representing
the Menouthian depôt.
A strong current runs between Zanzibar and Pemba, carrying ships
northwards sometimes at the rate of 50 miles per diem. The principal
settlement, Chak-Chak, is built upon a deep inlet on the western coast,
where the Island is narrowest. The distance is some 17 direct
geographical miles (or 25 by course) north with easting from the
southern Cape, and the approach is winding and difficult. The most
objectionable part of the Green Isle is its climate. No man here is in
rude health, laming ulcers on the legs exactly resembling syphilitic
sores, stomach pains, and violent indigestions afflict new comers:
hydrocele is a plague, and the population is decimated by small-pox,
dumb agues, and bilious fevers.
In its palmy day many Portuguese, merchants and soldiers, settled at
Pemba upon large plantations, and with the abundance of water and
provisions, amongst which cattle are specified, consoled themselves for
the insalubrity of the atmosphere. At the end of the sixteenth century,
when that celebrated corsair the Amir Ali Bey had raised the coast, the
‘Moors’ of Pemba revolted against their Shaykh, and murdered the foreign
settlers—men, women, and children. The chief, with a few fugitives, took
refuge in Melinde, and was speedily restored to his own by the
Captain-Major Thomé de Souza Coutinho, brother of the Viceroy of India.
He was again expelled shortly after A.D. 1594; and this time he retired
to Mombasah, became a Christian, and married a Portuguese orphan: he
eventually visited India with D. Francisco da Gama, who also promised to
restore him, and the promise seems to have been kept. In December, 1608,
the Island was visited by Capt. Sharpey, en route to India, and the
treacherous Europeans persuaded the ‘Moors’ to attack his crew, after
inveigling them on shore by a show of hospitality. Hence the ‘villanies
of Pemba’ became a proverb on the coast.
A steep path, a yellow streak on the dark green ground, leads up to the
Fort, which, situated beyond the settlement, commands the creek and
landing-place. It is evidently an old Portuguese building. The frontage
is a loop-holed curtain of masonry, flanked on the right by a round
tower—a mere shell—and on the left by a square turret, pent-housed, with
cajan mats. A few iron guns, honeycombed to the core, lie around the
walls; the entrance is dilapidated; and the place, now undergoing
repairs, is like most ‘Forts’ in these regions, about as capable of
defence as the castled crag of Drachenfels. Hearing the people of Pemba
call it, as at Maskat, ‘Gurayza,’ evidently a corruption of Igreja, and
now meaning a combination of fortress and jail, I inquired about
Portuguese ruins, and heard of two deserted churches, in one of which a
bit of steeple is still standing. The Lusitanians, in later times, long
made the Green Isle one of their principal slave-depôts: even in 1822
their ships traded regularly to Chak-Chak. I did not visit the ruins,
which are said to be distant one day’s march: there is nothing to
interest man in the relics of the semi-barbarous European rule. The
Island also boasts of a single mosque. The Pemba men pray at home, and
they are said to pray little. The population is held to be half that of
Zanzibar, upon less than two-thirds, perhaps only one-half, of the area;
but this appears a considerable exaggeration.
[Illustration: CHAK CHAK FORT (PEMBA ISLAND).]
Pemba supplies her bigger sister-isle with a little excellent ghee and
poor rice. The principal exports are cocoas and cloves; and here, as
every where along the coast, cowries are plentiful. Bullocks, reared on
the island, cost from $6 to $10; sheep, brought from the mainland, $3 to
$4; and goats, which are rare and dear, from $7 to $9. Cash is evidently
not wanting. Fowls are sold at 20 to 23 for $1—half the price of
Zanzibar,—and eggs are very cheap, two or three being procured for a
pice. The people complain that this year all provisions are
exceptionally dear. The Banyans, who make Pemba their head-quarters,
demand high agio for small change, giving only 111 pice for the German
crown, whereas 128 is the legal rate at the capital. They also regulate
the price of provisions according to the Zanzibar market. They have
different weights and measures—the Kaylah, for instance, is greater—and,
as usual in these regions, they keep the gross amount of exports and
imports a profound secret.
Our gallant captain of the beard—‘the Lord have mercy upon him for a
hen!’—determined to doze away the day, and to pass a snug sleepy night,
anchored in some quiet bight. His crew also, although living upon Jack
fruit, and supplied with only two skins of fresh water, grumbled
exceedingly when I ordered a δρομος νυχθημερος. For a whole day they had
tacked about the creek and basin till the shades of evening fell, and
force was required to keep the canvas aloft. Presently, when running out
of Pemba, grave doubts and misgivings about the wisdom of the proceeding
came over me as the moonless night fell like a pall, and, exaggerated by
the dim twinkling of the stars, rose within biscuit-toss the silhouettes
of islet and flat rock, whence proceeded the threatening sounds of a
‘wash.’ Soon, however, emerging from the reefs, we smelt sea air, and we
felt with pleasure the throb of the Indian Ocean.
During the three days that followed our patience was sorely tried. The
sky was now misty, hiding the shore, so that sometimes we went south
instead of north; then the spitting deepened to heavy rain, whilst the
thermometer stood at 83° (F.). The Azyab or N. East wind, high and
contrary, blew great guns, and a strong current set clean against us.
The combing sea, with waves raised some five feet, was most unpleasant
during the long moonless nights: on this coast there are more shoals and
coralline reefs than harbours, and the lee-shore, within a few yards of
which we were periodically drifted, was steep to, with rocky banks and
bars. Mariners rarely sail by night, except before a fair and steady
wind, and in the open roadsteads they are ill-defended from the strong
N. East monsoon. We long sighted the two high hummocks called Wasin
Peaks, and we were compelled to ride at anchor off Gasi Bay, the
strained old Riami creaking at every timber, and rolling gunwales under.
Pleasant scenes were the rule. Mutton-livered Saíd, groaning and
weeping, started up every half-hour during that ‘black night,’ and
screamed with voice altered by violent flesh-quake, till he makes us all
nervous as himself. The captain, sitting on the Zuli (deck), cried, Rih!
Rih!—wind! wind!—asked what could be done, and more than once, as we
were driven on towards a reef, definitively declared the Riami lost. The
sailors, green and yellow with hard work and hunger, tacking out with
the Barri (land breeze), and in with the Azyab, would not bale except
under the stick. The iron boat sinking once, and twice snapping her
painter in the long rolling sea, gave us abundant trouble. At last, as a
thick cloud veiled Jupiter and Venus, a cry arose that she had again
broken loose; and we resolved to make Mombasah, trusting that Tate would
restore her. More than once we thought of landing, and of walking along
the shore to our destination: for if all was unpleasant outside the
‘Beden,’ the inside, with its atmosphere of cockroaches, bilge water,
and rotting wood, was scarcely more attractive. Hitherto, from the
moment of our leaving England, the expedition had met with little but
ill luck.
At length, on January 16th, after long and wistfully gazing, as the mist
rose, at the three conical heads, which the Portuguese call ‘Corôa de
Mombaça,’ and when almost despairing of reaching them, the wind suddenly
became favourable, and we were driven round Ra’as Betani into the
land-locked harbour, right joyful to cast anchor opposite English Point,
and to pass the quiet night of which we had disappointed our crew at
Pemba Island.
The run into Mombasah was truly characteristic of Africa. The men hailed
us from afar with the query, ‘What news?’ We were unmercifully derided
as Whites by the black nymphs, bathing in the costume of Camoens’
Nereids. And the sable imps, sunning themselves upon the white sand,
shouted the free-and-easy Muzungu—‘Europeans!’
I was not a little astonished at the first sight of this ‘indomitable
village,’ whose history is that of the whole East African coast. Can
this paltry settlement have been the capital of the King of the Zing,
concerning whom Arab travellers and geographers have written such
marvels? Is this the place whose stubborn patriotism and turbulent
valour rendered her for nearly two centuries a thorn in the side of the
Portuguese? that gave them more trouble than all the 2000 miles of
shore? that allowed herself to be burnt three times to the ground, and
that twice succeeded in massacring an enemy whom she had failed to
expel? Can this miserable village have produced heroes, the Samson-like
Ahmad bin Mohammed; the generous and chivalrous Abdullah bin Ahmad, and
Mubarak, whose daring valour displayed during the war against Sayyid
Said, still lives in popular song? Of the second named a story is told,
which might belong to the knightly days of Europe. During the siege of
Lamu, where, by-the-by, he lent his shoulders as a scaling-ladder to his
father’s soldiers, the young chief received a poulet from a fair friend,
containing these words: ‘I hear that under our walls is a person named
Abdullah; if he be the man I love, he will not remain so near me without
claiming my hospitality!’ To hear was to obey. The Mazrui, taking his
trusty sabre, proved himself capable of the perilous enterprise, and
after returning to his father’s camp, he sent a slave to the governor
with the simple message: ‘Last night I slept in Lamu, and right soon I
will sleep in it with all my men.’
[Illustration: MOMBASAH FORT]
CHAPTER II.
MOMBASAH OR MVÍTA.[2]
‘Est autem urbs illa sita intra sinum quemdam in rupe præcelsâ et editâ.
Fluctus cùm se ab introitu sinus incitant, in adversam frontem urbis
incurrunt. Inde deducti introrsus penetrant et utrumque latus urbis
alluunt ita, ut peninsulam efficiunt.’—OSORIO, describing Mombasah.
From early ages the people of this inhospitable coast left untried
neither force nor fraud, neither secret treachery nor open hostility, to
hinder and deter Europeans from exploration. Bribed by the white and
black ‘Moors’—Arab and Wasawahili—then as now monopolists of the
interior trade, Vasco da Gama’s pilots attempted to wreck his ships. In
later years the Banyans, becoming the chief merchants of this coast,
excited against travellers the half-caste maritime races, as usual the
worst specimens of the population; these in turn worked upon their
neighbours, the sanguinary savages of the interior, who, in addition to
a natural fear of everything new, cherish old traditions of the white
man’s piracy and kidnapping. In 1826 the brig Mary Anne was assaulted
near Berberah and her crew was massacred by the Somal at the
instigation, according to Lieut. Wellsted (Travels in Arabia, chap.
xviii.), of the Banyans, who certainly withheld all information by which
the attack could have been prevented or repelled. In 1844 a combination,
secretly headed by Jayaram, the Collector of Customs at Zanzibar, so
effectually opposed Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton that, unable to hire a
vessel on the Island, he crossed over to the Continent in a launch
borrowed from the Sayyid and manned by his own boat’s crew. Now,
however, the increased number and power of the European houses, the
greater facility of communication, the presence of our ships in these
ports, and the more settled state of the Dominion, have convinced Arabs,
Banyans, and Wasawahili, that it is vain to kick against the pricks in
European shape. Yet they yield unwillingly, knowing that exploration
will presently divert their monopoly into other channels, and, quoting
the Riwayat or rhymed prophecy, that sovereignty shall depart from them
when the Franks’ first footstep shall have defiled the soil. Even in our
time (1857) travellers should consider the countenance of the Sayyid’s
government a sine quâ non, and unless marching in great force or
prepared for universal bakhshish, they should never make their
starting-point any port distant from head-quarters.
The town of Mombasah, still called ‘Mwita,’ meaning fight or battle, is
mentioned in A.D. 1331 by the Shaykh Ibn Batuta, as a large place
abounding in fruits, and peopled by a ‘chaste, honest, and religious
race.’ Two centuries afterwards the site is thus described by the Colto
e buon Luigi—as Camoens was termed by the amiable Tasso.
The isle before them stood so near the land,
that narrow was the strait which lay between;
a city situate upon the strand
was on the seaboard frontage to be seen:
with noble edifices fairly planned
as from the offing showed afar the scene;
ruled by a king for years full many famed,
the isle and city were Mombasah named.[3]
In João de Barros and others we read attractive details of beautiful
gardens, lofty towers, a harbour full of ships; of handsome men and of
honourable women habited in silk robes and adorned with gold and jewels;
of the ‘knights of Mombasah,’ which now can hardly show a head of horse,
and of the ‘ladies of Melinde,’ where the plundering Gallas have left
only heaps of ruins. The King, ‘for years full many famed,’ received his
first Portuguese visitors with peculiar empressement, and with the
kindly purpose of cutting Vasco da Gama’s throat, enticed him to land by
promises to furnish wax, wheat, ambergris, ivory, and precious
metals,[4] and by sending samples of spicery—pepper, ginger, and
cloves—apparently all imports, as Calicut Banyans and Christians of St
Thomas were upon the spot. But when the great Captain’s ship weighed
anchor to enter the port, she struck upon a shoal probably at the
southern end of the channel formed by ‘Leven Reef Head’ and the
mainland: the ‘Moors’ tumbled into their canoes, the Mozambique pilot
took a header from the stern, and an ugly plot stood forth in its
nakedness. To make certain, Da Gama of the ‘awful eyes’ extracted the
truth from his Moslem captives by ‘heating lard and dropping it upon
their flesh:’ unable, however, to revenge himself, he set sail for
Melinde.
And here we may explain how arose the contempt and hatred which the
coast has attached to the word Faranj, or Feringhee. The Orient became
acquainted with Europe at a time when the Portuguese were slavers and
robbers in the Lord’s name, when the Dutch were second-rate traders, and
when the English were rank ‘saltwater thieves.’ Vasco da Gama did not
hesitate to massacre all his prisoners, or to decorate his yard-arms
with wretches suspended like the captives of ‘Sallie rovers.’
Albuquerque’s soldiers hewed off the hands and feet of women and
children, the quicker to secure their rings and armlets. Torture and
cruel death, especially wholesale burning, fell to the lot of Moslems
and Pagans. In the seventeenth century even the commanders of the Hon.
East India Company’s ships, according to Della Valle, committed
robberies ashore and on the high seas: The ‘Grand Mogul’ regarded our
people as a race ‘of dissolute morals and degraded religion’—tetræ
belluæ, suis molossis ferociores.
In A.D. 1500 Mombasah yielded to D. Alvarez Cabral, and, three years
afterwards, the Captain Ravasco settled its tribute. On August 13,
1505—events succeeded one another rapidly in those brave old times—D.
Francisco de Almeyda, the first viceroy of Portuguese India, who had
been gravely insulted by the turbulent citizens, attacked with his 20
ships, captured and burnt it. The Sultan was admitted to the honours of
vassalship and tribute; stringent regulations were made, and the
conquest having been placed in the first of the three provinces of
Ethiopia and Arabia, with Mozambique as the general capital, the
government was confided by the king, in A.D. 1508, to D. Duarte de
Lemos. In 1516 Mombasah is described by Duarte Barbosa as a well-built,
wealthy, and flourishing place, which exported honey, wax, and ivory. It
was again attacked by D. Nuno da Cunha, who was bent upon avenging the
insults offered to his allies, the chiefs of Zanzibar, Melinde, and
Atondo. The Sultan defended himself stoutly, introduced into the city
5000 black archers, and armed a fort with cannon taken from Portuguese
ships: the women and children were sent to the mainland, and a system of
sorties and surprises was organized, which protracted the affair from
November 14 to March 3, 1529. At length D. Nuno, after destroying the
houses and cutting down the palm trees, set fire to the place, and burnt
it to the ground. These active measures secured peace for some years. In
1586 the Turkish corsair, Ali Bey, persuaded Mombasah to place itself,
like Makdishu, Ampaza, Lamu, Kelifi, and Brava, under the Sultan of
Stambul. D. Duarte de Menezes, viceroy of India, sent from Goa a fleet
of 18 ships, under Martim Affonso de Melo Bombeyro, who revenged the
insult by burning Mombasah the third time.
Tradition asserts, contrary to received opinion, that the Conquistadores
penetrated far into the interior, and common sense suggests that
soldiers so adventurous would not confine themselves to the seaboard.
The Wasawahili speak of a ruined castle on Njuira, a hill north of the
Pangani river, and placed by M. Rebmann 160 miles from the ocean. At
Chaga, a district west of Mombasah, whose apex is the well-known and
much-vexed Kilima-njaro or Kilima-ngao, stone walls, a breastwork for
cannon, and an image of a long-haired woman seated upon a chair and
holding a child, are reported still to remain. The Wanyika, or ‘Desert
people’ of the Mombasah Range, have preserved in their Kayas, or
strongholds near Rabai Mku, certain images which they declare came from
the west. According to Dr Krapf, these statuettes, called Kisukas, or
little devils, are carried in war processions to encourage the
combatants. No European has ever seen this ‘great medicine,’ nor has any
Chief ever dared even to propose showing them to the mission: whenever a
European evinced more pertinacity than was pleasing, he found the bushes
upon his path bristling with bow and spear, and capped by the woolly
mops of the sable Roderick Dhu’s clansmen.
‘And every tuft of broom gave life
To nigger warrior armed for strife.’
Iconolatry is unknown to these tribes, and the savages probably derived
their Kisukas from some civilized race. According to Andrew Battel, of
Leigh, the English captive at Angola (A.D. 1589), the Jagas, or
Giagas,[5] did not worship, but had small images in their towns, and a
life-sized figure of a man called Quesango. As a rule, however,
especially in the non-maritime regions, the negro’s want of
constructiveness and of plastic power prevent his being an idolater in
the literal sense of the word: he finds it more convenient to make a god
of ‘grass or palm-leaves and broken pieces of calabashes, to which
feathers of fowls are fastened by means of blood.’[6]
The important depôt was again attacked in 1589 by a savage host from the
south, called by contemporary historians, ‘Zimbas’:[7] the city was
taken by the savages; and after plunder and massacre, it was again
occupied by Thomé de Souza Coutinho. In 1592, according to the Mombasah
Chronicle, Shaho bin Misham, its last Shirazian Sultan, was succeeded by
Ahmad the Shaykh of Melinde. Two years afterwards a fort was built by
order of the Viceroy Matthias d’Albuquerque, and in 1596 D. Francisco da
Gama re-established the Portuguese rule. If we may believe the Dominican
monk João dos Santos, who was present during the war waged with the
Monomotapa about the mines of Chicova, the conduct of the European
foreigners was ‘outrageous and unreasonable,’ and it soon led to the
usual consequences. The first deadly blow against the conqueror was
struck by Yusuf bin Ahmad, alias Dom Jeronymo Chingoulia, the Nana Sahib
of the Eastern Coast. A son of Ahmad, the first Melinde Sultan of
Mombasah, he was sent at an early age to Goa, under the charge of
Augustine monks, with orders to bring him up in the true religion; he
was baptized in A.D. 1627, and, after writing a submissive letter to the
Pope, he was permitted to return home, and was imprudently promoted to
the chieftainship in August, A.D. 1630. The convert began by making
Moslems eat pork, and by similar demonstrations of zeal. When all
suspicions were laid at rest, Yusuf, no longer Jeronymo, collected 300
savages, entered the fortress in order to visit its commander, Pedro
Leitão de Gamboa; and at a given signal stabbed the latter with his own
hand, whilst his followers killed the captain’s wife and daughter,
together with the priest, who was saying mass. The surviving Portuguese
barricaded themselves for a week in the Augustine convent, but opened
the doors when the young Sultan promised to spare their lives. He at
once caused all the wretches to be arrowed, and the holy buildings to be
profaned and destroyed. Brave as he was cruel, he defended during three
months his city against a large fleet and armament sent by the Viceroy
D. Miguel de Noronha, Count of Linhares; he beat off Francisco de Moura,
and having captured two Portuguese vessels, he dismantled the citadel,
burnt the city, destroyed the trees, and escaped with his ‘Pandis’ to
Southern Arabia.
Fatal example! Mombasah thus learned that Europeans were easily
conquered. The wasted island was re-occupied by the Portuguese, and the
citadel was repaired in A.D. 1635. But after Hormuz and Maskat had
fallen into the hands of the Persians and the Arabs, the Yurabi Imam of
Oman, Sultan bin Sayf, besieged Mombasah about A.D. 1660, and, after
five years’ investment, captured only the fort. His son and successor,
Sayf bin Sultan, whose squadron was aided by the noble Arab tribe
Mazrui, and by the dependent Wasawahili, again attacked the Portuguese,
recovered the fort, massacred its defendants, and established an Arab
governor. This decisive event took place on the 9th of Jemadi el Akhir,
A. H. 1100 (December 14, 1698), a date celebrated in many a local
ballad.
I have sketched the modern history of Mombasah when chronicling that of
Zanzibar. Sayyid Said, wiser than the Portuguese, secured his conquest
by the Tarquinian operation of striking down all the tallest growth. For
our temporary protectorate Capt. Boteler is the best authority, and
since A.D. 1837 the place has no name in the annals of the coast. The
traveller, as well as merchant, must lament that we abandoned its cause;
had England retained it, the interior would long ago have been opened to
us. This lament may seem strange in the days when we propose to give up
Gibraltar, as we have given up Java, Sicily, and the Ionian
Islands—conquests hard won by blood and gold, and parted with for a
song.
The harbour of Mombasah is spacious and land-locked; without exception,
the best on the Zanzibar coast. Its magnificent basin is formed by one
of those small coralline islands which, from Suez to Cape Corrientes,
have long been the centres of commerce with peoples who, brutalized by
barbarism, and incapable of civilization, would have converted mainland
depôts into scenes of rapine and bloodshed. Of this chain the principal
links, the Tyre, the Alexandria, and the Araduses of East Africa, are
Masawah, old Zayla, Berberah—in the 16th century an islet—Makdishu,
Lamu, Wasin, ancient Mtanga, Pemba, Zanzibar, Mafiyah, the original
Kilwa, and Mozambique. The island is a mass of coralline, that forms
scarps and dwarf cliffs, 45 to 60 feet high, everywhere except on the
west, where there is a tongue of sand, and where the level ground is
covered with the fertile humus of decayed vegetation; the shape is an
irregular oval, about 3 miles long by 2½ broad, and this flat surface is
capable of growing the richest produce. The soil, excessively permeable
and bone-dry after a few hours following the heaviest downfalls, allows
neither swamp nor bog. Eastward, or outside, there is good riding-ground
defended on both sides by reefs; inside a double sea-arm moats the islet
in every direction from the coast. This channel of coral-rag and
oyster-rock, about 280 yards wide at the mouth, broadens northwards into
a deep and secure basin, Captain Owen’s[8] Port Tudor, so called from
the officer who surveyed it, and westward of the islet is Port Reitz, a
longer and a wider water. Vessels usually lie under the town opposite
English Point, where they find safe anchorage. In the South-West
monsoon, however, between May and September, square-rigged ships must be
warped out, and in so doing they run some risk of being wrecked.
On the N. West Point, where a little battery commanded the passage,
Mombasah Island is separated from the mainland by a shallow ford, and
possibly this canal may be artificial. Here I should be inclined to
place the New Fosse[9] of the Periplus, and to identify, as do Vincent
and Stuch, the Pyralaon Islands, with Pemba, Zanzibar, and Mafiyah. M.
Guillain, by a careful calculation of distances, would transfer the site
further north to the natural channel between Patta, Mandra, Lamu, and
the mainland. But whilst errors of numerals are easily made, and readily
copied in manuscripts; and whilst mistakes of distance can easily be
accounted for, it is hard to believe that the Phœnician, Egyptian, and
Greek merchants would have neglected the finest harbour and the best
site for trade upon the whole Azanian shore. Moreover, there is nothing
in the text to prevent the Pyralaon Islands being those off the Benadir,
and the Fosse being about the modern ford of Mkupa on the west of the
Island of Mombasah.
Said went on shore as the anchor ran out, and presently returned,
accompanied by Lakhmidas Thakurdas, the Banyan Collector of Customs,
with a civil message from the Jemadar, or Fort Commandant. Other
visitors were Hari, a young Bhattia, speaking English learned at
Zanzibar, and a certain Rashid bin Salim, a captain’s clerk, whose son
is commanding a Kisawahili caravan in the Ukamba-ni country. With them
we landed at a natural jetty in the N. Eastern front of the town, and
where the dents of cannon-balls mark the position of a battery. Hence we
ascended the cliff by a flight of steps in a dark dwarf tunnel, which is
a reminiscence of the English. Further to the N. West is the wharf,
constructed in 1825 by Lieut. Emery, and near it vessels generally lie.
The tunnel opens upon the Mission House, a double-storied box of coarse
masonry; the ground-floor belongs to Sayyid Said, and Shangora, the
Msawahili ‘care-taker,’ duly supplied the key. To the right and left
were other similar tenements, all more or less dilapidated, and the S.
Eastern point was occupied by a small Custom House painfully
whitewashed.
We are now in the Gavana (i. e. Governo), at present the Arab town, as
opposed to the Mji wa Kale, Harat El Kadimeh, the ‘old quarter,’ the
Black Town of the Portuguese. The site of the former is a dwarf rise at
the S. Eastern and seaward edge of the Island, and it faces to the N.
East, where over the pure blue channel orchards and verdure and wells of
pure water commend the mainland as a villeggiatura. The form of the
settlement is a parallelogram running N. West to S. East, and it was
separated from the Black Town by a wall 10 to 12 feet high. This, under
the Mazrui Shaykhs, was repaired and provided with a few bastions;
between the Gavana and the citadel, however, a defensive work was not
judged necessary, and now—an excellent sign—the rampart is rapidly
falling to ruins. Here are the tombs of the local heroes who made
Mombasah a historic name, and under a shed repose the remains of the
Mazara governors, beginning with Mohammed bin Usman. The tombs are of
masonry, and are distinguished by bearing epitaphs, which are somewhat
in the style of prayers recited before the graves of Walis at Meccah and
El Medinah. Amongst them is the sepulchre of Khuwaysah bint Abdillah, a
woman apparently with a soul, for Allah is begged, to ‘make her home
Paradise, with the best of its inmates.’
The materials of the Gavana are brown thatch huts, clustering round a
few one-storied, flat-roofed boxes of glaring lime and coral rag,
equally rude within and without. On the N. West lies the ‘native’ half,
which prolongs the Arab quarter beyond the enceinte; this suburb is
wholly composed of sun-burned and wind-blackened hovels, forming a
labyrinth of narrow lanes. Outside the faubourg clusters a thicketty
plantation of cocoa and fruit trees; here was the favourite
skirmishing-ground between the Sayyid’s troops and the Mazrui defenders
of the city. Mombasah is, as far as Nature made her, pleasing and
picturesque, but man has done his best to spoil her work. A glorious
‘bush,’ a forest of tall trees, capped by waving palms, laced with
llianas, and studded with shady mangoes, thick guavas, and fat baobabs,
here forming natural avenues, there scattered as in a pleasure-ground,
overspreads the vicinity of the town, whilst the more distant parts to
the West, S. West, and N. West, are dense wild growths, virgin, as it
were, and still sheltering the monkey and the hog, the hyæna and the
wild cat. The presence of man is known only by some wretched hut, or by
a dwarf Shamba-plot of meagre cultivation.
We inquired for the tomb of the Resident, Lieut. John James Reitz, who
died whilst exploring the Pangani river, and was buried here in 1823.
The site was once a church, but it has been turned into a cattle-yard by
the Banyans, and now it enjoys the name of Gurayza ya Gnombe (bullock
church). Besides some fine old masonry-revetted wells, still supplying
the best water, the only traces of the Portuguese and the ‘twenty
churches of Mombasah’ are ruins of three desecrated fanes, especially
the Gurayza Mkuba (great church), the Augustine convent which lies in
the north-eastern part of the Gavana. It is not to be compared for
interest with the Jesuit remains upon the Rio de São Francisco. The
people no longer show, as in 1824, the heap of masonry under which, says
Boteler (ii. 1-20), they had buried the Moslems who fell during the
second massacre of the Portuguese. I did not see the pillar or obelisk
and the ruined fort to the S.S. East of the citadel, shown in Captain
Owen’s chart. The Gurayza Mdogo is near the Augustine convent, and has
now all the semblance of a dwelling-house. The battery or citadel, built
by the Portuguese in 1594, and repaired in 1635, has been so much
altered that it is now an Arabo-Msawahili construction. Its position is
excellent, outside and S. East of the Gavana, pointing to the N. East,
with complete command, at a distance of 600 fathoms, over the narrow
northern entrance, and wanting only a reform in the batteries à fleur
d’eau, and clearing out the interior of sheds and forage, to be a match
for all the fleets of Arabia. Originally a quadrangle, some 120 yards
square, with 4 bastions facing the cardinal points, it was sunk below
the level of the coralline rock, which thus forms the footing of the
walls, and which supplies a broad, deep moat. According to the Mombasah
chronicle, the stones were brought ready cut from Portugal: the phrase
is ‘Do Reino,’ which Capt. Owen has rendered ‘from Rainu,’ and elsewhere
is commemorated ‘The Sultan of Rainu.’ The S.S. Western is the strongest
side, whence a land attack might be expected: the other flanks are rich
in dead ground, and the N.N. West front protects the Gavana. My sketch
of the north-eastern face, taken from the Mhoma-ni Shamba, on the
opposite side of the creek, shows a picturesque yellow pile, with tall,
long, and buttressed curtains, which appear slightly salient, enclosing
towers studded with, perpendicular loopholes; three tiers of fire
opposite the entrance to the northern harbour; a place d’armes; a high
don-jon with a giant flag-staff, conspicuous for 5 or 6 miles from the
south, and sundry garnishings of little domes and luxuriant trees, some
even growing out of the wall cracks.
Hearing that strangers are admitted to the Fort—Mrs Rebmann has often
visited it—I proceeded to the head-quarters of the Jemadar. Arrived at
the land gate leading to the inner Barzeh or vestibule, my attention was
directed to the Portuguese inscription before alluded to. It is half
defaced by the Arabs, but this is of the less consequence as copies have
been published by Captains Owen and Guillain.[10] At the angles of the
western and southern bastions are also scutcheons in stone bearing the
names Baluarte São Felippe and Baluarte Alberto. That to the north was
called Baluarte São Matthias (from Matthias de Albuquerque), but here,
as on the south side, the inscriptions have disappeared, probably by the
fire of the enemy. A sentinel at the gate waved his hand and cried, Sir!
Sir! (go! go!); but I persisted in sending for the Jemadar Tangai, who
took my hand and led me towards a shed of leafy branches, some 15 paces
outside the Fort. Here, he assured me, the Sayyid himself used to faire
anti-chambre; but I could see only hucksters and negroes. We parted in
high dudgeon, nor did we ever become friendly. Saíd bin Salim, who
during this scene had remained below and afar off, showed us the chief
mosque—there were eight when Lieut. Emery visited the town[11]—and a
formless mass of masonry, which marks the last resting-place of some
almost forgotten heroes.[12]
The climate of the Island is hotter, healthier, and drier than that of
Zanzibar. The rains begin with storms in early April, or before the
setting in of the S. West monsoon. They are violent in May, and from
that time they gradually decrease. Between December and March there are
a few showers, for which the cultivator longs; and, as may be imagined
in an island ever subject to the sea-breeze, the dews are exceptionally
heavy. The people suffer little from dysentery and fever: Europeans,
however, complain that they are never free from the latter. The endemic
complaint is a sphagadenic ulcer upon the legs and parts most distant
from the seat of circulation. Here, as in Abyssinia, in Yemen, in the
Hejaz, and at Jerusalem, the least scratch becomes an ugly wound, which
will, if neglected, destroy life. The cause may be found in the
cachectic and scorbutic habit induced by the want of vegetables and by
brackish water; the pure element is, indeed, to be found in the old
wells beyond the town and on the mainland; but the people save trouble
by preferring the nearer pits, where water percolates through briny
coralline. The town has suffered severely from epidemics, small-pox, and
what strangers call the plague. The citizens still remember the
excessive mortality of 1818, 1832, and 1835. At Mombasah I heard nothing
about the curious influence which the climate is said to exercise upon
cats, causing a sandy-coloured fur to be exchanged for ‘a coat of
beautiful short white hair’; and producing, according to others,
complete baldness, like the Remedio dogs of the Brazil and the Argentine
Republic.
Mombasah, as has been seen, trades with the Wanyika for copal, with the
people of Chaga and Ukamba-ni for ivory, and with the inner tribes
generally for hippopotamus’ teeth, rhinoceros’ horns, cattle, cereals,
and provisions. Slaves are brought from Zanzibar, natives of the country
about and south of Kilwa being preferred. The imports are chiefly
cottons, glass, beads, and hardware. There is no manufacturing industry,
except a few cloths, hand-made in the town. Besides Harar, Mombasah is
the only tropical African city which boasts an indigenous coinage.
During the wars with Sayyid Said, the Mazrui chief, finding a want of
small change, melted down a bronze cannon, and converted it into pieces
a little larger than our six-pence. The bit, which bears on the obverse
the name of Mombasah, whilst the reverse assures the owner that it is
‘money,’ was forcibly circulated, and the value was established at an
equivalent to the measure (Kibabah) of Maize. Since the fall of the
Mazara this purely conventional coin has fallen into disuse, and I was
unable to find specimens of it.
-----
Footnote 1:
The new system of electric signals has again altered the position of
Bombay, which is placed now in E. long. (G.) 72° 48′ 4″. Before that
invention the difference between London and Paris varied from 2° 20′
15″ to 2° 20′ 24″. In 1854 M. Le Verrier determined it from 200
observations to be 2° 20′ 9.45″.
Footnote 2:
This Kisawahili name is usually written by the Arabs ‘Mfíta.’ Dr Krapf
prefers ‘Mwita,’ and remarks that the ‘Wamwita,’ together with
remnants of 11 other tribes, represent the original inhabitants of
Mombasah. The natives would also pronounce Mombasah as Mombásá; and
indeed so it is written by Ibn Batuta (chap. ix.). The silent terminal
aspirate of the Arabic and Persian becomes in Kisawahili a long á,
e.g. Ndílá, a coffee-pot, from the Arabic Dallah and Daríshá, a
window, from the Persian Daricheh. The translation of El Idrisi
(Climate I. sect. 7), gives Manisa two days from Melinde, evidently a
conception of Mvita. Capt. Hamilton (India, chap. i.) unduly contracts
it to ‘Mombas,’ and this seems to be the cacography adopted of late
years.
Footnote 3:
In the original—
Estava a ilha a terra tão chegada
Que humo estreito pequeno a dividia;
Huma cidade nella situada
Que da fronte do mar apparecia;
De nobres edificios fabricada
Como por fóra ao longe descobria;
Regida por hum Rei de antigua idade,
Mombaça he o nome da ilha e da cidade.
LUSIAD, i. 103.
Footnote 4:
In 1823 the Arabs informed Capt. Boteler ‘that in some rivers in the
vicinity gold in small quantities was at times procured’ (Narrative of
a Voyage of Discovery, &c., vol. ii., chap. i.).
Footnote 5:
The racial name of these wandering Lestrigons, so formidable to the
Portuguese in the 16th century, and taken from a title of honour,
‘Captains of warlike nomades,’ is thus confused by Prichard (Natural
History of Man): ‘In 1569 the same people are said to have been
completely routed on the Eastern coast, near Mombasa, after having
laid waste the whole region of Monomotapa.’ He may have heard of the
Highland of Chaga, whose people, however, call themselves not Wachaga,
but Wakirima—mountaineers. Or he may have known that the Portuguese
inscription over the Fort Gate at Mombasah declares that in A.D. 1635
the Capitão Mor, Francisco de Xeixas e Cabrera, had subjugated,
amongst others, the King of Jaca or Jaga. Jaca is also mentioned by J.
de Barros (ii. 1, 2). M. Guillain (vol. ii. chap. xxii.) makes ‘Chaka’
a town between Melinde and the mouth of the Ozi river. We find ‘the
Jages, Anthropophagos,’ in Walker’s Map, No. 4, Universal Atlas, 1811.
Footnote 6:
Messrs J. Schön and Samuel Crowther’s Journals with the Niger
Expedition of 1841. London, 1842.
Footnote 7:
Dos Santos calls the Commander ‘Muzimbas.’ Duarte Barbosa mentions sub
voce Zimbaoche, a great village seven days’ journey from Benametapa.
De Barros identifies it with the Ptolemeian Agyzimba, and describes it
as a royal residence of the Emperor Benomotapa. It is the Zumbo of Dr
Livingstone.
Footnote 8:
A plan of the Island was published by Rezende in 1635.
Footnote 9:
In the edition of Charles Muller (Paris, 1845) the word καίνης
disappears, and the sentence becomes καὶ της λεγομένης διώρυχος, ‘and
the so-called fosse.’ Certainly the term διῶρὺξ would suit the
Mombasah Canal better than the Channel of Patta, and the former is the
only ‘digging’ where human labour can possibly have been applied. Thus
Pliny (v. 3) explains the name of the city Hippo Diarrhytus, ‘from the
channels made for irrigation.’ That the scanty population of Arabs at
ancient Mombasah was incapable of excavating a canal 600 metres long
is no proof that the work was not done. The Sultan of Mombasah could
bring into the field 5000 wild archers, and, similarly, in the Brazil
the most astonishing works were effected by a handful of Portuguese,
assisted by hordes of Tupy savages.
Footnote 10:
Owen (i. 404, 405) sketches and transcribes it very incorrectly.
Guillain (vol. i., Appendix, p. 622) has done his work better. In vol.
i., p. 442, however, he gives the name of the governor as ‘Sexas e
Cabra’—the latter by no means complimentary.
Footnote 11:
Short account of Mombas and the neighbouring coast of Africa, by
Lieut. Emery, R. N. Journal Royal Geographical Society, vol. iii. of
1854.
Footnote 12:
This may, however, be the pile spoken of by Boteler.
CHAPTER III.
VISIT TO THE KISULODI-NI MISSION HOUSE.
Tremolavano i rai del sol nascente
Sovra l’onde del mar purpuree e d’oro,
E in vesti di zaffiro il ciel ridente,
Specchiar parea le sue bellezze in loro.
D’Africa i venti fieri e d’Oriente,
Sovra il letto del mar prendean ristoro.—TASSONI.
Leaving directions with Lakhmidas to land and lodge our cockroach-gnawed
luggage, and deputing Saíd bin Salim, supported by our two Portuguese
servants and his three slaves, to protect it, we set out on the morning
after our arrival to visit M. Rebmann of the ‘Mombas Mission’ at
Kisulodi-ni, his station. Before the sun gained power to destroy the
dewy freshness of dawn, we slowly punted up the northern sea-arm which
bounds the Mombasah islet: in our heavy ‘dau’—here all the lesser craft
are so called—manned by two men and a small boy, we justified the stern
Omar’s base comparison for those who tempt the sea, ‘worms floating upon
a log.’ Whilst threading the channel our attention was attracted by
groups of market people, especially women, who called to be ferried
across. On the part of our crew the only acknowledgment was an African
modification of Marlow Bridge, far-famed amongst bargees. Sundry small
settlements, bosomed in thick undergrowth, relieved by brabs, cocoas,
and the W-shaped toddy-tree, appeared upon each ‘adverse strand.’ After
a two miles’ progress, lame as the march of civilisation at S’a Leone,
we entered Port Tudor, a salt-water basin, one of the canals of Mombasah
Bay, about two miles broad, and in depth varying from one to fifteen
fathoms. Broken only by the ‘Rock of Rats,’ and hedged on both sides by
the water-loving mangrove, it prolongs itself towards the interior in
two tidal river-like channels for about ten miles, till stopped by high
ground. The northern is named ‘Water of the Wakirunga,’ and the
north-western ‘Water of the Rabai,’ from tribes owning the banks.
Captain Owen has christened them respectively William Creek and River
Barrette, after the officers who aided in his survey. Similarly, Port
Reitz, to the south-west, projects a briny line called ‘Water of
Doruma’—the region which it drains—and receiving the Muache, a sweet
rivulet that flows from uplands 20 to 30 miles from the coast. Such in
nature is the Tuaca, or Nash river, which defaces our maps. It is a mere
confusion with Mtu Apa, the ‘River Matwapa’ of Captain Owen, a village
and a little runnel five miles north of Mombasah. Lieut. Emery mentions
the ‘hamlet of Mtuapa, situated at the entrance of a small river, which
runs about sixteen miles into the country.’ Like the Cuavo, or great
‘Quiloa river,’ a salt-water inlet receiving during the rainy season the
surface drainage of a seaward slope, the ‘Tuaca’ becomes a noble black
streak, dispensing the blessings of intercourse and irrigation athwart
three inches of white paper. The presence of such rivers must always be
suspected: they would long ago have fundamentally altered the social
condition of the interior. We may remark the same of Ptolemy’s three
great Arabian streams, which could have existed only in the imagination
of travellers.
As we advanced up the Rabai Water the sea arms shrank, and the scenery
brightened till we felt that any picture of this gorgeous and powerful
nature must be comparatively grey and colourless. A broken blue line of
well-wooded hills, the Rabai Range, first offsets of the Coast Ghats,
formed the background. On the nearer slopes, westward, were the rude
beginnings of plantations, knots of peasants’ huts hove successively in
sight, and pale smoke-wreaths, showing that the land is being prepared
for the approaching showers, curled high from field and fell. Above was
the normal mottled, vapoury sky of the rainy zone, fleecy mists,
opal-tinted, and with blurred edges, floating on milk-blue depths,
whilst in the western horizon a purple nimbus moved up majestically
against the wind. Below, the water caught various and varying
reflections of the firmament: here it was smooth as glass, there it was
dimpled by the pattering feet of the zephyrs, that found a way through
the hill-gaps, and merrily danced over the glistening floor. Now little
fish, pursued by some tyrant of the waters, played duck and drake upon
the surface: then larger kinds, scate-shaped, sprang five or six feet
into the air, catching the sun like silver plates. On both sides the
wave was bounded by veritable forests of the sea. The white mangrove
affected the unflooded ground; the red species (Rhizophora Mangle,
Linn.) rose unsupported where solidly based, but on the watery edge it
was propped, like a Banyan tree in miniature, by succulent offsets of
luscious purple and emerald green, so intricate that the eye would
vainly unravel the web of root and trunk, of branch and shoot. Hence,
doubtless, the name Aparaturie, or Apariturier, of the old French
travellers, from parere, because the tree reproduces itself like mankind
before split into Adam and Eve. Clusters of parasitical oysters adhered
edgeways to the portions denuded by the receding tide; the pirate-crab
sat in his plundered shell, whilst the brown newt and rainbow-tinted
cancers, each with solitary claw, plunged into their little
hiding-holes, or coursed sidling amongst the harrow-work of roots, and
the green tufted upshoots binding the black mass of ooze. These are the
‘verdant and superb, though unfruitful, trees’ of the old Portuguese
navigator, which supply the well-known ‘Zanzibar rafters.’ Various
lichens sat upon the branch forks, and tie-tie, or llianas, hung like
torn rigging from the boughs. Here and there towered a nodding cocoa, an
armed bombax (silk-cotton tree), or a ‘P’hun’-tree, with noble
buttressed shaft and canopied head of leek-green, glinted through by
golden beams. Fish-hawks, white and brown-robed, soared high in ether.
Lower down, bright fly-catchers hunted the yellow butterflies that
rashly crossed from bank to bank; the dove coo’d in the denser foliage;
the yellow vulture, apparently keeping a bright look-out, perched upon
the topmost tree-crest overhanging the shoal water which lined the
sides; the small grey kingfisher poised himself with twinkling wings;
the snowy paddy-bird stood meditating upon the margin of the wave, while
sober-coated curlews and sandpipers took short sharp runs, and stopped
to dive beak into the dark vegetable mud.
After seven hours, or ten miles, of alternate rowing, sailing, and
pushing through pelting rain and potent sunbeams, we reached, about
mid-day, the pier—a tree projecting from the right bank over the miry
graves of many defunct mangroves. Our boat, stripped of sail, oars, and
rudder, to secure her presence next morning, was made fast to a stump,
and we proceeded to breast the hills. We began with rolling ground,
sliced and split by alternate heat and moisture, thickly grown with tall
coarse grass, sun-scorched to a sickly tawny brown, and thinly sprinkled
with thorny trees. Amongst the latter I recognized the ‘Gabol’-mimosa of
Somaliland, whose long sharp needle, soft whilst young, but dry, hard,
and woody when old, springs from a hollow filbert-like cone.
Another mile brought us to the first ascent of the Rabai hills. The
pitch of the fell was short but sharp, and the path wound amongst
boulders, and at times under palms and clumps of grateful shade. On the
summit appeared the straggling lodges of the savages, pent-housed sheds
of dried fronds, surrounded by sparse cultivation, lean cattle, and
vegetation drooping for want of rain. The desert people were all armed,
being in terror of the Wamasai, the natural enemies of their kind. None,
however, carried guns, the citizens of Mombasah having strictly
prohibited the importation of powder; a wise precaution which might be
adopted by more civilized races upon the West African coast. Amid cries
of Yambo!—a salutation which recalled dim memories of Mumbo
Jumbo—especially from that part of the community termed by prescriptive
right the fair—questions as to whether our bundle contained provisions,
and the screams of lean-ribbed children, we pursued our road under the
grateful cover of a little wood, and then over ridgy ground where a
scattered village, shortly to be wasted by the Kimasai spear, was
surrounded by the scantiest cultivation. At the end of a five-mile walk
we entered the Mission House, introduced ourselves, and received from Mr
and Mrs Rebmann the kindest welcome. They were then alone, M. Deimler,
who had lived with Mr Isenberg in Abyssinia, having left them three days
before in H. M.’s ship Castor, the late Commodore Trotter. We afterwards
saw the latter at Zanzibar.
The Kisulodi-ni Mission House[13] at Rabai Mpia appeared to us in these
lands a miracle of industry. Begun about 1850 by Messrs Rebmann and
Erhardt, it was finished after some two years of uncommonly hard work.
The form is three sides of a hollow square, completed with a railing to
keep poultry from vagrancy, and the azotea, or flat roof, is ascended by
an external ladder; the material is sandstone, clay-plastered and
white-washed; mangrove rafters form the ceiling, and Mvuli planks the
doors and shutters. It has, however, its inconveniences, being far from
that source of all comfort, the well, and beplagued with ants—the little
red wretches are ubiquitous by day, and by night overrunning the
clothes, nestling in the hair, and exploring nose and ears without a
moment’s repose, they compel the inmates to sleep with pans of water
supporting the couch legs. We enjoyed sundry huge ‘sneakers’ of tea, and
even more still the cool, light, refreshing air of the heights, and the
glorious evening, which here, unlike ‘muggy’ Zanzibar, follows the heavy
showers. The altitude by B. P. proved to be 750 feet, not 1200 to 2000,
as reported.
The servants, most grotesque in garb and form, gathered to stare at the
new white men, and those hill-savages who were brave enough to enter a
house stalked about, and stopped occasionally to relieve their minds by
begging snuff or cloth. One of the attendants had that in his face and
manner which suggested the propriety of having a revolver ready. ‘Do not
mind him,’ said Mrs Rebmann, ‘he is a very dear friend,—one of our
oldest converts.’ ‘Yes,’ pursued her husband, ‘Apekunza was mentally
prepared for Christianity by a long course of idiocy, poor fellow!’ We
were somewhat startled by the utter simplicity of the confession when it
was explained to us that the convert Apekunza, whom Dr Krapf calls Abbe
Gunja, had, as often happens to Africans, been driven to distraction by
the loss of all his friends and relatives. M. Rebmann also related to me
in pathetic terms the death of the mechanic missionary, Johannes Wagner,
a youth who, suffering from typhus, was very properly, but in vain,
supplied with abundant stimulants, therefore the Arab version of the
event was Sharrabúhu Khamr kasír—sár sakrán—mát wa Jehannum (they gave
him much strong liquor—he got drunk—died, and went to Gehenna). To
compare the edification of the people round the Christian death-bed, as
set forth in the Missionary Intelligencer, was not a little suggestive
of the delusions in which even honest men can live.
At a conference with the secretaries of the Church Missionary Society in
London, Major Straith and the Rev. Mr Venn had intrusted me with an open
letter to their employé, dated Sept. 30, 1856, giving him leave of
absence in case he decided to accompany the East African expedition at
the expense of the latter. They had neglected to forward a copy, but M.
Rebmann had received a second communication, which he did not before
produce. His earliest impulse was evidently to assist in carrying out
the plans which had been first formed by the ‘Mombas Mission,’ and
personally to verify the accuracy of the map, then so loudly and
violently criticised, now gaining credit every year. But presently cool
reflection came. He was not in strong health; he had, perhaps, seen
enough of the interior; and, possibly, after a few conversations he
thought that we relied too much on the arms of flesh—sword and gun. The
home instructions were, ‘The Committee have only to remark that they
entirely confide in you, as one of their missionaries, that wherever you
go you will maintain all the Christian principles by which you are
guided; that should you see fit to go with the expedition your
experience and knowledge of the language may prove very valuable; while
you may also obtain access to regions and tribes where missionary
enterprise may be hereafter carried on with renewed vigour.’ This did
not quite suit us, who had been pledged by Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton to
avoid ‘Dutchmen’ and proselytizing. Briefly, M. Rebmann did not
accompany us. A few weeks afterwards we met him again at Zanzibar,
whither he had been driven by the plundering Wamasai in February, 1857.
His passion for the ‘wunderbar’ had not abated, and he told us
impossible legends about vast forests and other mythical features, near
the Nyassa, southern or Zambezean Lake. During the years which he had
spent in the Wanyika country he had never studied its language; but when
driven from it, he immediately applied himself to Kinyika. An honest and
conscientious man, he had yet all the qualities which secure unsuccess.
He was the last of the ten members of the hapless Mission: all of them
were attacked by bilious remittents a few weeks after commencing their
labours; several had died, and the others had sought less dangerous
fields for labour, and some possibility of doing something in the
spiritual way. That it has been highly successful, geographically
speaking, none can doubt. The short trips into the interior, and the
long conversations with the natives, duly published by Messrs Krapf,
Rebmann, and Erhardt, gave an impulse to East African exploration
utterly unknown before their day. And as the recent valuable labours of
Messrs Wakefield and New prove, the ‘Mombas Mission’ is not likely to
derogate from its former fame.
We had proposed for ourselves a short excursion inland from Mombasah;
but everything combined to oppose the project. The land was parched,
provisions were unprocurable, the robber tribes were out, and neither
guides nor porters would face the plundering parties then approaching
the town. Indeed, it is to be feared that the entrance to Chaga,
Kilima-njaro, and the hill country around will now be closed to
travellers for many a year. Caravans dare not risk a contest with
professed plunderers; and hereabouts a successful raid always leads to
sundry repetitions. Such is the normal state of East Africa, from the
Red Sea to the Cape. The explorer can never be sure of finding a
particular road practicable: a few murders will shut it for a
generation, and effectually arrest him at the very threshold.
We had no object during a mere ‘trial trip,’ either to fight our way, or
to pave it with gold. Our course was to economize life and money for the
great task of exploring the Lake Regions. This was duly explained by me
to the Royal Geographical Society, and no African traveller would have
required the explanation. But a certain Herr Augustus Petermann, of
Gotha, could not resist the temptation of taunting me with having
hesitated to face dangers through which the missionaries had passed,
‘weaponed only with their umbrellas.’ This gentleman from Germany had
visited England, and had created for himself the title of ‘Physical
Geographer to the Crown’: when, however, no salary was the result, he
returned to his native land, declaring that the Crown must take its
geography without physic. His style of settling geographical questions,
for instance in the ‘Skizze’ before alluded to (note 1, chap. v.), seems
to be simply striking a mean between the extremes of the disputants. The
process reminds one of a Bombay savan, locally famed, who, having
collected every observation published upon the disputed longitude of
that port, added them all, divided them by the number of the items, and
produced _his_ meridian. As a reward for Herr Petermann’s ‘zealous and
enlightened services as a writer and cartographer in advancing
geographical science,’ that is to say, persistent book-making and
map-drawing, he, and not Mr Alexander Findlay, received, in 1867, the
Founder’s medal of the Royal Geographical Society; and I can only say
that in this case the gift has gone cheap, and has been easily gained,
as what is called in familiar French ‘un crachat.’
Unlike the traveller, the merchant always commands an entrance for his
goods: if one line be shut up, another forthwith opens itself. Such we
found this year to be the case at Mombasah; the western country has
suddenly been closed to Arabs and Wasawahili; the north-western has
become as unexpectedly practicable. On January 19 (1857) returned the
van of a large trading party, which had started for the interior in
September last. It was composed of about 200 men—Arabs, Wasawahili, and
slaves, of whom 40 bore provisions, rice and maize, pulse, sugar, and
tobacco, whilst 150 armed with muskets carried packs to the value of
$3000 in ‘Merkani’ (American domestics), sheetings, longcloths, and
other stuffs; green, white, and spotted beads, knives, tin (batí); brass
wires, and small chains, with stores and comforts for the journey. After
19 days of actual marching, and sleeping out 24 nights, they reached
Kitui, the farthest point visited by Dr Krapf in 1849, and thence they
dispersed through Ukamba-ni and Kikuyu, its north-western province, to
purchase ivory. The latter article sold per Farsalah (35 lbs.) for 88
cubits of cotton cloth, probably worth at Zanzibar 11 German crowns and
a small merchant could thus afford to being back from 1400 to 1500 lbs.
I wrote down a list of their marches[14] and stations, carefully
comparing the accounts of several travellers. Ukamba-ni was described to
me as a country rich in game, whose rivers were full of hippopotamus;
with gazelles, jungle-cattle, and ‘wild camels’ (giraffes) in the
plains, and in the bush lions and leopards, elephants, and the
rhinoceros, which the Arabs here call ‘El Zurraf,’ and describe to be
very fierce. The tribes are subject to head men, whose influence extends
over a few miles: these chiefs must be propitiated with cloth and beads,
for which they return safe conduct and provisions. At Kikuyu the caravan
found a royalet, Mundu Wazeli, whose magical powers were greatly feared.
The people, a semi-pastoral and hospitable race, willingly escorted the
strangers. They are braver than the Wanyika, and they effectively oppose
the Wamasaa, when invading their country to drive the Galla cattle. The
Wakámbá claim blood-relationship with the Wakwafi and the Wagálla, who,
it must be remembered, speak an Arabic dialect. All spring from the
three sons of a venerable keeper of cattle, Mkwáfi the senior, Mgálla,
and Mkámbá: the legend seems invented to account for the inveterate
blood-feud between the cousin tribes. When the founders had inherited
their father’s property, they had been cautioned against robbing wild
honey, and they were told, as in the Crystal Palace, ‘Never kill a Bee.’
Mkámbá, apparently having a sweet tooth, attacked a wild hive, and had
the misfortune to see all his cattle rush violently to the forests,
where in time they became ‘buffaloes’ and antelopes. He naturally robbed
his second brother, who, in turn, robbed the senior, who retorted by
robbing the junior, and so forth till the present day. The climate is
good, water abounds, and provisions are cheap. The honey is ‘white as
paper’; sugar-cane, manioc, holcus, and tobacco are everywhere
cultivated by the women; poultry is plentiful, and goats cost 8, while
cows fetch 24 cubits of cotton cloth. The beasts of burden are asses and
a few camels. The return road was rendered dangerous by the Gallas and
the Wamasai, who both harry Ukam-ba-ni, but who did not dare to attack
so large a body armed with guns. The caravan marched from sunrise till
the afternoon, halting about half an hour after two hours’ walking, the
stages being mostly determined by water. Every night they surrounded
themselves with a corral, or rude abbatis, and they lighted huge fires
against the wild beasts. I did not hear that any of the party died. My
informants could tell me nothing concerning the giant snow-mountain,
Ndur-Kenia,[15] that exceptional volcano, still active, when distant 6°
from the sea, which would postulate a large lacustrine region, possibly
the Baringo or Behari-ngo. They had never heard of the Tumbiri or Monkey
river, flowing to the N. West; of the direct communication with the
Upper Nile, or of other geographical curiosities whose existence the
study of the interior during the last few years has either confirmed or
annulled. Yet they were acute and not incurious men. One of them,
Mohammed bin Ahmad, had kept a journal of his march, carefully noting
the several stages. The late M. Jomard, President of the French
Geographical Society, had been informed (and misinformed) that an annual
caravan of ‘red people,’ from the neighbourhood of Mombasah, carried
beads to buy ivory on the Nile, about N. lat. 3°. He laid down the
length of the journey at two to three months. The Arabs knew nothing of
the matter.
Nothing even among the Somali Bedawin can be wilder than the specimens
from Ukamba-ni; these Warimangao,[16] as the people of Mombasah call
them, the ‘sons’ of the chief Kivoi, that danced and sang the Nyunbo or
song of triumph in the streets of Mombasah. It was a perfect picture of
savagery. About 50 blacks, ruddled with ochre, performed the Zumo
(procession); men blowing Kudu-horns, or firing their muskets, and women
‘lullalooing.’ They sat with us for some hours drinking a sherbet of
Ngizi, or molasses extracted from cocoa-tree toddy, and the number of
gallons which disappeared were a caution. The warriors of the tribe,
adorned with beads on the necks, loins, and ankles, were armed with the
usual long bows and poisoned arrows, spears or rather javelins,
knobsticks for striking or throwing; knives and two-edged swords of fine
iron, the latter a rude imitation of the straight Omani blade, of which
I afterwards saw specimens upon the Congo river. Some had shock heads of
buttered hair, wondrous unsavoury, and fit only for door-mats; others
wore the thatch twisted into a hundred little corkscrews; their eyes
were wild and staring, their voices loud and barking, and all their
gestures denoted the ‘noble savage’ who had run out of his woods for the
first time. They were, however, in high spirits. Before last year (1857)
no Arab had visited their country: trading parties from Ukamba-ni sold
ivory to the Wanyika for four times round the tusk in beads, and these
middlemen, after fleecing those more savage than themselves, retailed
the goods at high profits to the citizens. The Wakamba of the coast are,
of course, anxious to promote intercourse between Mombasah and their
kinsmen of the interior, and thus the road, first opened at the imminent
risk of life, by the enterprising Dr Krapf, has become a temporary
highway into the interior of Eastern Intertropical Africa—a region
abounding in varied interest, and still awaiting European exploration.
But let not geographers indulge in golden visions of the future! Some
day the Arabs of Mombasah will seize and sell a caravan, or the fierce
Wamasai or the Gallas will prevail against the traders. Briefly, no
spirit of prophecy is needed to foresee that the Kikuyu line shall share
the fate of many others.
A report prevalent in Mombasah—even a Msawahili sometimes speaks the
truth—that the Mission House had been attacked by the savages, and the
march of an armed party from the town, showing a belief in their own
words, hurried us up to Kisulodi-ni, on Sunday, January 18. The rumour
proved to be false, but it was a shadow forethrown by coming events: as
M. Rebmann showed certain velléités for martyrdom, I insisted that his
wife, an English woman, should be sent down to Mombasah, and we had the
satisfaction to see the boxes packed. This second visit added something
to our knowledge of the country. The Ghaut, or Coast Range, which has no
general but many partial names, as Rabai, Shimba, and others, varies in
height from 700 to 1200 feet, and fringes the shore from Melinde to the
Panga-ni river. Distant but a few miles from a sea-board of shelly
coralline, it shows, like Madagascar, no trace of the limestone
formation, which forms the maritime region of Somaliland. These hills
are composed of sandstones, fine and coarse, red-yellow and dark brown,
with oxide of iron; the soil, as usual in Western Intertropical Africa,
is a ‘terrier rouge,’ as Senegal was called by the French of the 17th
century, a red ochreous clay, and bits of quartz lie scattered over the
surface. Beyond it are detached hills of gneiss and grey and rufous
granite: the latter is so micareous that the Baloch firmly believe it to
contain gold.
Inland of Mombasah the Rabai Range is a mere ridge, with a gentler
counter-slope landwards, declining 150 to 200 feet, not, as such
maritime formations usually are, the rampart of an inland plateau. This
unusual disposition probably gave rise to the novel idea—instruments
were not used—that the interior falls to, and even below, sea-level,
thus forming a depression, bounded north and south by rapid rivers, the
Adi and the Panga-ni. The chine is broken by deep ravines, which during
the rains pour heavy torrents into the sea-arms at their base: the
people might make tanks and reservoirs by draining the smaller clefts,
but they prefer thirst and famine to sweating their brows. Though
exposed to the blighting salt breeze, the land wants nothing but water,
and, this given, no man need ‘tread upon his neighbour’s toes.’ Arecas
and cocoas, bushy mangoes and small custard-apples, the guava and the
castor plant, the feathery manioc, and the broad-leaved papaw and
plantain flourish upon its flanks. In the patches of black forest spared
by the wild woodman, the copal, they say, and the Mvule, a majestic
timber-tree whose huge trunk serves for planking and doors at Zanzibar,
still linger. I saw none of the cinnamon plants mentioned by Dr Krapf. A
little gum-animi or copal is here dug; but the inveterate indolence of
the natives, their rude equality, in which, as amongst Bushmen, no one
commands, and their inordinate love for Tembo, or palm-wine, are
effectual obstacles to its exploitation. When we visited these hills
drought and its consequence, famine, had compelled the people to sell
their children: contented with this exertion, they did no more.
We left Kisulodi-ni on January 22, 1857. Some nights afterwards fires
were observed upon the neighbouring hills, and the Wanyika scouts
returned with a report that the Wamasai were in rapid advance. The wise
few fled at once to the Kaya, or hidden barricaded stronghold, which
these people prepare for extreme danger. The foolish many said,
‘To-morrow we will drive our flocks and herds to safety.’ But ere that
morning dawned upon the world, a dense mass of wild spearmen, numbering
some 800 braves, sweeping like a whirlwind, with shout and yell and
clashing arms, passed the Mission House, which they either did not see
or which they feared to enter; dashed upon the scattered village in the
vale below, and strewed the ground with the corpses of wretched
fugitives. Thence driving their loot they rushed down to the shore, and
met a body of 148 matchlock-men, Arabs and Baloch, Wasawahili and
slaves, posted to oppose progress. The bandits fled at the first volley.
The soldiers, like true Orientals, at once dispersed to secure the
plundered cattle, when the Wamasai rallying, fell upon them, and drove
them away in ignominious flight, after losing 25 men, to the refuge of
their walls. The victors presently retired to the hill-range, amused
themselves with exterminating as many Wanyika as they could catch, and,
gorged with blood and beef, returned triumphant to their homes. The old
Jemadar Tangai took from the unfortunate Wanyika all their remaining
cows; they also retired into the interior, and the price of provisions
at Mombasah was at once doubled.
The wild people of Eastern Africa are divided by their mode of life into
three orders. Most primitive and savage are the fierce pastoral nomades,
Wamasai and Gallas, Somal, and certain of the ‘Kafir’ sub-tribes: living
upon the produce of their herds and by the chase and foray, they are the
constant terror of their neighbours. Above them rank the semi-pastoral,
as the Wakamba, who, though without building fixed abodes, make their
women cultivate the ground: these clans indulge in occasional or
periodical raids and feuds. The first step towards civilization,
agriculture, has been definitively taken by the Wanyika, the Wasumbara,
the Wanyamwezi, and other tribes living between the coast and the inland
lakes: this third order is usually peaceful with travellers, but
thievish and fond of intestine broils.
But a few years ago the Wakwafi,[17] who in their raids slew women and
children, were the terror of this part of the coast: now they have been
almost exterminated by their Southern and S. Western neighbours, the
Wamasai, a tribe of congeners, formerly friends, and speaking the same
dialect. The habitat of this grim race is the grassy and temperate
region from N. Westward and to S. Westward of Chaga: nomades, but
without horses, they roam over the country, where their flocks and herds
find the best forage; they build no huts, but dwell under skins,
pitching rude camps where water and green meat are plentiful. They are
described as a fine, tall, dark race resembling the Somal, with a
fearful appearance caused by their nodding plumes, their hide pavoises
or shields, longer than those of the ‘Kafirs,’ and their spears with
heads broad as shovels, made of excellent charcoal-smelted metal.
According to native travellers, they are not inhospitable, but their
rough and abrupt manners terrify the Wasawahili: they will snatch a
cloth from the trader’s body, and test his courage with bended bow and
arrow pile touching his ribs. Life is valueless among them; arms are
preferred to clothes, and they fear only the gun because it pierces
their shields. They are frequented when in peaceful mood by traders from
Mombasah, Wasin, Mtanga, and Panga-ni: this year, however, even those
who went up from the Southern ports feared to pass the frontier. Such
visits, however, are always dangerous. ‘If a number of persons are
killed by a certain tribe, and there happen to be parties belong to that
tribe staying amongst the race which has suffered loss, the visitors are
immediately put to death,’ says Mr Wakefield. Cattle is the main end and
aim of their forays, all herds being theirs by the gift of the Rain-god
and by right of strength; in fact, no other nation should dare to claim
possession of a cow. They do not attack by night, like other Africans:
they disdain the name of robbers, and they delay near the plundered
places, dancing, singing, and gorging beef to offer the enemy his
revenge. Until this year they have shunned meeting Moslems and
musketeers in the field: having won the day, they will, it is feared,
repeat the experiment.
-----
Footnote 13:
I made a sketch of it which was published in Dr Krapf’s Travels, chap.
xiii. Rabai Mpia, ‘New Rabai,’ is thus distinguished from a
neighbouring settlement, Rabai Khú or Kale, ‘old Rabai.’ According to
M. Guillain (i. 247), the ‘Montagnes de Rabaye’ correspond with the
‘Alkerany’ of the geographer Ibn Saíd, who says, ‘East of Melinde is
Alkerany, the name of a mountain very well known to travellers. This
height projects into the sea for a distance of about 100 miles in a
north-east direction; at the same time it extends along the Continent
in a straight line, trending south for some 50 miles. Amongst the
peculiarities of this mountain is the following: the continental
portion contains an iron mine, which supplies all the country of the
Zenj, besides being exported, and the part under the sea contains
magnetic matter which attracts iron.’ Evidently ‘Alkerany’ belongs to
the geography of El Sindibad of the Sea, better known as Sindbad the
Sailor.
Footnote 14:
The route which follows seems to agree, as far as it goes, with the
Rev. Mr Wakefield’s No. 3, from Mombasah to Dhaicho. I have not
changed my notes, which still appear in my diary of 1857.
1. Mombasah viâ Mkupa to Rabai: 1 full day.
2. Kitakakai in the plains of the Wakamba: 1 day.
3. Mtu ’Ndogoni (M’tu Anggoni of Capt. Guillain?): 1 day.
4. Wamamba of the Doruma: 1 day.
5. Kisima (little well), amongst high hills, with a small reservoir:
1½ day. (This appears to be the Ngurunga za Kimiri and Ngurunga za
Mlala of Capt. Guillain, and the Gurungani of Mr Wakefield).
6. Dayda (Tayta, the Taveta of Capt. Guillain, which Mr Wakefield
makes a corruption of a Kikwavi word, ‘Ndoveta’): 2 days (1 long and 1
short).
7. Ndi, a place infamous for thieves: 1½ day.
8. The Chágo (Zavo) or Tsavo river: 1½ day. (Captain Guillain has a
village, Segao.)
9. Mtitowandei: 1½ day.
10. Kikumbulu, or country on the southern frontier of Ukamba: 1 day.
11. The Adi (Sabaki or Sabbak) river, which disembogues itself north
of Melinde, unfordable after rains: 1½ day.
12. The Tiwa river in Yatá: 1 day.
13. Nzáu, the land of tobacco: 1½ day.
14. Kitui: 2½ days.
Thence, to the beginning of Kikuyu, the travellers make from 4 to 8
stages. The day’s work would be 9 hours, including 2 of halt, and the
distance, assuming the pace to be 2½ miles per hour, would be about 17
miles. Here, say the people, 10 marches do the work of a month on the
southern lines, the reason being want of food and water, and fear of
enemies.
Footnote 15:
The reports forwarded by the Rev. Mr Wakefield render it very probable
that Mount Kenia is the Dóĭnyo Ebor, ‘White Mountain,’ the block
rising north of Kikuyu, and almost in a meridian with Kilima-njaro.
Moreover, a native traveller has lately described a mass of 30 to 40
craters in the Njemsi country, south of the Baringo or Bahari-ngo
Lake; the apex of the mountains being the Doenyo Mburo, alias the
Kirima ja Jioki (Mountain of Smoke), heard of by Dr Krapf (Church
Miss. Int., p. 234. 1852.)
Footnote 16:
The singular is Mritmangao, hence Mr Cooley’s Meremongáo, whence iron
was exported to make Damascus blades—risum teneatis? Dr Krapf says
‘the Wakamba are called by the Suahili, Waumanguo.’ M. Guillain (iii.
216) translates ‘M’rim-anggâo, or Ouarimanggâo’ by ‘gens qui vont
nus.’
Footnote 17:
Dr Krapf’s ‘Vocabulary of the Engútuk Eloikob’ (Wakwafi), Tübingen,
1854. The author, a far better ethnologist than linguist, made the
Wakwafi tribe extend from N. Lat. 2° to S. Lat. 4°, and in breadth
from 7° to 8°. He derives the racial name from Loi or Eloi (‘those,’
plural of Oloi), and Gob or Kob (country) ‘those in or of the
country’; the word has been corrupted by the Wakamba to Mukabi, and by
the Wasawahili to Mukafi and Mkwafi, in the plural, Wakwafi. Late
reports represent the fact that the Wamasai tribe, after the fashion
of all Inner Africa, is struggling to obtain a settlement upon the
coast, where it can trade direct with Europeans, and has actually
succeeded in driving the Waboni from the southern bank of the Adi or
Sabakí river; thence its progress to Melinde and the seashore is easy
and sure. I regret to state that the valuable papers by Herr Richard
Brenner (Mittheilungen, &c., Dr A. Petermann, 1868) have not been
translated into English. Mr Edward Weller, however, has made use of
that traveller’s map in preparing his excellent illustration of these
volumes. Herr Brenner is stated to be still in Africa; he appears to
be an intelligent traveller, and we may justly hope that we have not
heard the last of him.
CHAPTER IV.
THE PEOPLE OF MOMBASAH. THE WANYIKA TRIBE.
Statio benefida carinis.—VIRGIL.
In 1844 Dr Krapf allowed the population of Mombasah town, without its
dependencies, to be 8000 to 10,000. In 1846 M. Guillain reduced it to
2500 or 3000 souls, not including a garrison of 250 men, but including
40 families of Arabs (220 to 230 souls), and 50 Banyans and Hindostani
Moslems. In 1857 I was assured that it contained 8000 to 9000 souls,
thus distributed: Arabs, about 350; 300 Baloch and other mercenaries, 50
Bhattias, 25 to 30 Indian Moslems, the rest being Wasawahili and the
slave races. The Wasawahili are distributed into two great groups. Older
and consequently nobler, though less numerous, are the Wamwita; they
derive their origin from a Shirazi Shaykh whose name is locally
forgotten. The other and far larger division is the Wakilindi-ni, who
trace their name from Kilindi, whence they emigrated to Shungaya alias
Shiraz, and eventually to Mombasah. Originally they occupied on the
western shore of the island a separate settlement, which they called
after their oldest homes; they built a tower of stone, surrounded it
with a wall, provided it with wells, and thus rendered themselves
independent of their patrons. Some remnants of eight other tribes, coast
Arabs who had suffered from the invader, also colonized Mwita. Under the
rule of the Portuguese an amalgamation took place, and the several races
all became Wasawahili. The city is now governed by three Shaykhs—of the
Arabs, of the Wamwita, and the Wakilindi-ni: they receive a small
salary, and they communicate direct with Zanzibar, visiting the Island
once a year. Justice is administered by three Kazis similarly chosen:
the troops are under a Jemadar, and a Banyan sent by the farmer-general
from head-quarters, manages the Custom House.
The Kisawahili spoken at Mombasah is purer than that of Zanzibar, the
result of being nearer the fountain-head. Here the people can hardly
articulate an initial ‘A:’ they must say, for instance Bdúlá, or as
often Mdúlá, not Abdullah, and they supply a terminal vowel, as Shkúlá
for School; the Hindostan man who shirks our double initial consonants
would change it to ishkúl. The explosive sound of the _B_ by forcibly
closing the lips is given to the _M_, which becomes a perfect consonant
having sound and continuance: before another consonant it creates in
strangers’ ears the suspicion of being preceded by the original
vowel-sound, and when following a vowel it is articulated as a final not
as an initial consonant—M’áná-_m_ke (a woman), for example, would be
pronounced M’áná_m_-ke. The initial _N_ also becomes before a consonant
hard and explosive, and it sounds to the tyro as if a rapidly pronounced
‘I’ or ‘E’ were prefixed: Europeans, for instance, write _N_jia,
‘Endia.’ At Mombasah I heard the Arab ‘Hamzeh,’ or compression and
contraction of the larynx, when a hiatus of two similar vowels occurs,
as in Mcho’o (rain) and Tá’á (a lamp): in the dialects less pure the gap
would be filled up by inserting the liquid R or L, as Mfuru for Mfu’u
(the name of a tree). The Arabs and the more civilized tribes, I have
remarked, prefer the R to the L, and say Rufu for Lufu, the Upper
Pangani river, and so forth. The _T_ also assumes the cerebral sound of
the Sanskrit and that which renders the English dentals so hard to
foreigners.
We found unexpectedly at Mvíta—the ‘Mombas Mission’ having been kindly
received—a reception which could not be called friendly. Small
communities are rarely remarkable for amiability, and these citizens are
taxed by the rest of the coast-people with overweening pride, insolence
of manner, bigotry and evil speaking, turbulence and treachery. They
cannot forget their ancient glories, their hereditary chiefs who ruled
like kings with Wazirs, Shayhks of tribes and Amirs or chief captains
commanding hosts of savage warriors. Of course they regret the Mazara
whom they themselves were the first to betray—they would betray them
again and regret them again to-morrow. Like all ‘civilized’ Africans,
they are not only treacherous and turbulent, but also inveterate thieves
and pilferers: few travellers have failed to miss some valuable in the
boat that lands them. Lies were plentiful as pronouns. Whilst some for
their own purposes made very light of travel in the interior, others
studiously exaggerated the expense, the difficulty, and the danger; and
recounted the evils which had befallen Dr Krapf because he refused to
take their advice. As I determined to disregard both, so they combined
to regard us as rivals and enemies. They devoted all their energies to
the task of spoiling us; and failing in that matter, they tried
bullying: on one occasion I was obliged to administer, sword in hand,
the descent down-stairs. The Jemadar Tangai, a gaunt Mekrani some 60
years old, and measuring 6 ft 2 in., insisted courteously upon supplying
an escort, with the view of exchanging his worthless swords for our guns
and revolvers: he could neither read nor write, but he was renowned for
‘’Akl,’ intellect, here synonymous with rascality. His son Mustafa
brought a present of goats and fruit, for which he received the normal
return-gift; he expected a little cloth, gunpowder, and a gold
chronometer. We were visited by a certain Shafei Shaykh; by a Mombasah
merchant, Jabir bin Abdullah el Rijebi, who seemed to think that men
should speak in his presence with bated breath: he almost merited and he
narrowly escaped being led out of the room by his ears. The very Hindus
required a lesson of civility. We were on the best of terms with the
Wali or Governor, Khalfan bin Ali el Bu Saídí, a fine specimen of the
Arab gentlemen: he was on board when the Sayyid died, and he told us all
the particulars of that event. But the manifest animus of the public was
such as to make a residence at Mombasah by no means pleasant to us.
Considering the intense curiosity of civilized humanity to know
something of its fellow-men in the state so-called of nature, of the
savages which now represent our remote ancestors, I proceed to sketch
the typical tribe of this part of Africa. My principal authority is M.
Rebmann, who during nine years has made a conscientious study of the
race, and who imparted his knowledge with the greatest courtesy.
The name ‘Wanyika’ means People of the Nyika,[18] or wild land: it is
useless, with M. G. de Bunsen, to identify their land with the Νίχωνος
ὅρμος of the Periplus, as every wilderness is here called Nyika.
Moreover, the name is not anciently known upon the coast: we read of the
Wakilindi-ni and of the ‘Muzungulos,’ the plundering tribe which
occupied the terra firma of Mombasah, and thus we may suspect the
Wanyika to be a race which has emigrated from the interior since the
middle of the 17th century. Their own tradition is that they were
expelled by the Gallas from the lands lying N.N. West of Melinde. They
occupy the highlands between S. lat. 3° and 5°, and they are bounded
north by the Wataita, and south by the Wasumbara. Dr Krapf proposes for
them a census of 50,000 to 60,000 souls, which appears greatly
exaggerated. They are, as usual, divided into a multitude of clans,
concerning which we know little but the names. Mulattoes of an early
date, negroes mixed with Semitic blood and with a score of tribes, these
East African families appear to have cast off in the course of ages the
variety and irregularity of hybridism; moreover, if it be true that ‘the
Semite is the flower of the negro race,’ the produce would hardly be
properly called half-caste. Receiving for ages distinct impressions of
the physical media around them, they have settled down into several and
uniform national types: these, however, will not be detected by the
unpractised eye. Many considerations argue them to be a degeneracy from
civilized man rather than a people advancing towards cultivation. Their
language attaches them to the great South African race, and some have
believed in their ancient subjection to the Ethiopian or Kushite Empire.
The historian of these lands, however, has to grope through the glooms
of the past, guided only by the power to avail himself of the dimmest
present lights. I vehemently doubt, moreover, the antiquity of maritime
races in Tropical Africa—a subject which has been discussed in my sundry
studies of the Western Coast. A case in point is the latest move of the
pastoral Wamasai.
Physically the Wanyika race is not inferior to other negroids, nor
degraded as is the Congo negro. Like the Galla and the Somal, the skull
is pyramido-oval, flattened and depressed at the moral region of the
phrenologist—a persistent form amongst savages and barbarians—and
straight or ‘wall-sided’ above the ears, a shape common both to ‘Semite’
and negro. The features are ‘Hamitic’ only from the eyes downwards: the
brow is moderately high, broad, and conical; the orbits are tolerably
distant; the face is somewhat broad and plain, with well-developed
zygomata; the nose is depressed with patulated nostrils, coarse and
ill-turned; the lips are bordés, fleshy and swelling, and the jaw is
distinctly prognathous. The beard is scant; the hair, which though wiry,
yet grows comparatively long, is shaved off the forehead from ear to
ear, and hangs down in the thinnest of corkscrews, stiffened with fat.
The skin is soft, but the effluvium is distinctly African; the colour is
chocolate-brown and rarely black, unless the mother be a slave from the
South. The figure is, like the features, Semitic above and negrotic
below. The head is well seated upon broad shoulders; the chest is ample,
and the stomach, except in early boyhood or in old age, does not
protrude or depend. But the bunchy calf is placed near the ham; the
shin-bone bends forward, and the foot is large, flat, and lark-heeled.
Nothing is more remarkable than the contrast between form and face in
the woman-kind: upon the lower limbs, especially the haunches, of the
Medicean Venus a hideous ape-like phiz meets the disappointed eye: above
hangs a flaccid bosom, below
wand-like is
Her middle falling still,
And rising whereas women rise—
Imagine nothing ill!
There is not, as amongst the Hottentots, that exaggeration of the
steatopyga which assimilates the South African man to his ovines: the
subcutaneous fat overlying the gluteian muscles and their adjacents,
forms in early life a cushion rather ornamental than otherwise. Young
men often show a curious little crupper which gives a whimsical
appearance to the posterior surface—I have observed this also amongst
the Somal. The favourite standing position is cross-legged, a posture
unknown to Europe; sometimes the sole of one foot is applied to the
ankle or to the knee of the other leg: the gait—no two nations walk
exactly alike—is half-stride, half-lounge. Eyes wild and staring, abrupt
gestures, harsh, loud, and barking voices, still evidence the ignoble
savage.
The Wanyika afford a curious study of rudimental mind. A nation of
semi-naturals as regards moral and intellectual matters, their ideas are
all in confusion. To the incapacity of childhood they unite the
hard-headedness of age, and with the germs of thought that make a Bacon
or a Shakespeare they combine an utter incapability of developing them.
Their religion is of the ‘small’ category, the large being Brahmanism
and Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity and El Islam, the first active
Reformation of its predecessor, and the triumph of Arianism over
Athanasianism. The system is that of a ‘Gentile worshipping nothing,’
yet feeling instinctively that there is a Something above or beyond him.
It is the vain terror of our childhood rudely systematized, the earliest
dawn of faith, a creation of fear which ignores love. Thus they have
not, in our sense of the words, God or devil,[19] heaven or hell, soul
or spirit.
‘Mulungu’ is the Mnyika’s synonym of the Kafir Umdali, Uhlanga, and
Unkulumkulu, the Morungo of Tete, the Unghorray of Madagascar, and the
Omakuru of the Damaras. Amongst the most advanced tribes it denotes a
vague kind of God: here it means any good or evil ghost, especially of a
Pagan. The haunting Moslem is distinguished as P’hepo, the plural of
Upepo (a whirlwind, or ‘devil,’ generally called Chamchera). As amongst
all Fetish worshippers, the evestrum which they call Koma—pronounced
like Goma—meaning etymologically ‘one departed,’ is a subject of horror;
but of the dead they say Yuzi sira—he is ended. They cannot comprehend a
future state, yet they place sheep and goats, poultry and palm wine,
upon the tombs of their dead. It is a modern European error (Rev. Mr J.
P. Schön and Rev. Mr Sam. Crowther) to suppose that drops of liquor
spilt, as by the Brass men, in honour of the old people (ancestors),
food-offerings at graves, and fires lighted there on cold wet nights,
evidence the European’s, the East African’s,[20] or the American’s
belief in futurity: as the act proves it is a belief in presentity, and
after a few years the ceremony showing ‘a continuation of relationship
between the living and the dead’, is always disused. Savages cannot
separate the idea of an immortal soul from a mortal body: can we wonder
at this when the wisest of the civilized have not yet agreed upon the
subject? The characteristic of the venerative faculty amongst savages
and barbarians is ever irreverence: they cannot raise themselves to the
idea of a Deity, and they blaspheme as if speaking of a man and an
enemy. The Wanyika horrify the Moslems by their free language concerning
Allah. So King Radáma I. of Madagascar, a comparatively civilized man,
who attempted to regulate his forces upon a European pattern, was in the
habit of firing guns during storms; he declared that the two deities
were answering one another—the God above speaking by thunder and
lightning, the god below by cannon and powder. Yet he could anticipate
the Bon Général Janvier by General Tazo, the swamp-fever, who he
declared was his best aid against the French invader. Something of this
irreverence is remarkable in the character of Richard Cœur de Lion.
The Wanyika thus hold, with our philosophers, that the Koma is a
subjective, not an objective, existence; and yet ghost-craft is still
the only article of their creed. All their diseases arise from
possession, and no man dies what we should term a natural death. Their
rites are intended either to avert evils from themselves or to cast them
upon others, and the primum mobile of their sacrifices is the interest
of the Mganga, or Medicine-man. When the critical moment has arrived,
the ghost, being adjured to come forth from the possessed one, names
some article, technically called a Kehi, or chair, in which, if worn
round the neck or limbs, it will reside without annoying the wearer.
This idea lies at the bottom of many superstitious practices: this negro
approach to a ‘sympathetic cure’ is the object of the leopard’s claw, of
the strings of white, black, and blue beads, called Mdugu ga Mulungu
(ghost-beads), worn over the shoulder, and of the rags taken from the
sick man’s body, and hung or fastened to what Europeans call the
‘Devil’s Tree.’ The ‘Kehi’ is preferred by the demon-ghost to the
patient’s person, and thus by mutual agreement both are happy. Some,
especially women, have a dozen haunters, each with its peculiar charm:
one of them is called, ridiculously enough, ‘Barakat,’ in Arabic ‘a
blessing,’ and the P.N. of the Æthiopian slave inherited by Mohammed.
It has not suited the Moslem’s purpose to proselytize the Wanyika, who
doubtless, like their kinsmen the Wasawahili, would have adopted the
Saving Faith. As it is, the Doruma tribe has been partly converted, and
many of the heathen keep the Ramazan fast, feeling themselves raised in
the scale of creation by doing something more than their pagan brethren.
The ceremonies are the simplest contrivances of savage priestcraft.
Births are not celebrated, and the weakly or deformed infant is at once
strangled: it is a failure, and as such it is put away. Children become
the property of the mother, or rather of her brother, to be disposed of
as he pleases: the only one who has no voice in the matter is the
putative father. Circumcision, an old African custom extending from
Egypt to the Cape, and adopted from the negroid by the Hebrews, is a
semi-religious act performed once every five or six years upon the
youths en masse, and accompanied by the usual eating and drinking,
drumming and dancing. A man may marry any number of wives; the genial
rite, however, is no tie to these fickle souls: it is celebrated by
jollifications, and it is broken as merrily.
The principal festivities, if they can be so called, are funerals: the
object is to ‘break the fear’ (Ussa kiwewe) of death, an event which,
savage-like, they regard with a nameless dread, an inexpressible horror.
For a whole week the relations of the deceased must abstain from
business, however urgent, and ruin themselves by killing cattle and
broaching palm-wine for the whole community. At these times there is a
laxity of morals, which recalls to mind the orgies of the classical
Adonia, and refusal to lavish wealth upon the obsequies of relations is
visited with tauntings and heavy fines.
A characteristic of Wanyika customs is the division of both sexes into
distinct bodies, with initiatory rites resembling masonic degrees. The
orders are three, not four as in India, Persia, and ancient Greece; and
traces of such organization, founded as it is upon the ages of man, may
be found in many communities of negroes and negroids. The Kru Republic,
for instance, a pure democracy, flourishing close to the despotisms of
Ashanti and Dahome, makes a triple division of its citizens: the Kedibo,
or juveniles; the Sedebo, or soldiers (adults); and the Gnekbadi, elders
and censors. The southern Gallas appear to be divided into ‘Toibs,’ or
officers; the ‘Ghaba,’ adult warriors, who wear four Gútu or pigtails,
projecting at right angles from the poll; and the ‘Ari,’ cadets or
aspirants, who have a right to only two. The Wakwafi have the El Moran,
warriors, young men who live with their fathers; the Ekieko, married
men; and the Elkijaro or Elkimirisho, elders. The Wanyika split into the
Nyere, or young; the Khambi, or middle-aged; and the Mfaya, or old. Each
degree has its different initiation and ceremonies, with an ‘elaborate
system of social and legal observances,’ the junior order always buying
promotion from the senior. Once about every twenty years comes the great
festival ‘Unyaro,’ at which the middle-aged degree is conferred. This
(1857) is Unyaro-year; but the Wamasai hindered the rite. Candidates
retire to the woods for a fortnight, and clay themselves for the first
half with white, and during the second with red earth; a slave is
sacrificed, and the slaughter is accompanied by sundry mysteries, of
which my informants could learn nothing. When all the Khambi have been
raised to the highest rank, the Mfaya, these, formerly the elders,
return, socially, to a second childhood; they are once more Nyere, or
(old) boys, and there is no future promotion for them. After the
clay-coatings and the bloody sacrifice, the chief distinctions of the
orders are their religious utensils. Tor instance, the Muansa (plural
Miansa) drum, a goat-skin stretched upon a hollowed tree-trunk, six feet
long, whose booming, drawn-out sounds, heard at night amongst the wild
forested hills, resembles the most melancholy moaning, is peculiar to
the third degree or elders of both sexes. It is brought during the dark
hours to the Kaya, and the junior orders may not look upon it.
Similarly, the women have earthenware drums, which are concealed from
the men. El Idrisi (1st climate, 2nd section) had heard that the people
of El Banes, 150 Arab miles by sea from Manisa or Mombasah, adored a
drum called Esrahim. It was covered with skin only at one end, and was
suspended by a cord to be beaten; the result was a frightful sound,
heard at the distance of a league.
Languor and apathy are here at once the gifts of the media or climate,
and the heritage of the race: moreover, man in these lands, wanting
little, works less. Two great classes, indeed, seem everywhere to make
of life one long holiday—the civilized rich, who have all things, and
the savage, who possesses almost nothing. Yet is the Mnyika, and indeed
mostly the wild man, greedy of gain—alieni appetens, sui
pro-fusus—perfectly dishonest in quest of lucre, and not to be bound by
honour or oath, as he is reckless, wasteful, and improvident. Like their
neighbour-nations in this part of Africa, these people are instinctively
and essentially thieves. They never go to war; agriculture, commerce,
and a settled life have enervated them into pusillanimity without
supplying superior knowledge for offence or even for defence. They
scratch the ground with their little hoes; they wander about after their
few cows and goats; they sit dozing or chatting in the sun or before a
fire; and they spend hours squatting round an old pit till water
collects, rather than sink it a few feet. Thus they idle away three
days, and they rest from non-labour on the fourth, called Juna, from
Jum’a the Moslem ‘sabbath.’ This, as amongst the Dahomans and other
African tribes, is their week. Spare time is passed mostly in
drunkenness, induced by Tembo or palm-wine, and with stronger liquors,
when they can get them. They begin the potations early in the morning,
and after midday they are seldom sober, except for want of material. The
tom-tom is hardly ever silent: as amongst the Somal and the Wasawahili,
it sounds at all times, seasons, and occasions: and they dance,
accompanying themselves with loud cries, even to expel the bad ghost
from the body of a bewitched friend. They have also the Dahoman rattle,
an empty gourd or cocoa-nut, filled with pebbles and provided with a
handle: this is the celebrated ‘Tamaraka’ idol worshipped by the
Tupy-Guarani tribes, between the Gulf of Mexico and the Rio de la Plata.
The music is simple, and they are contented to recitative for the
live-long night such merum nectar as—
‘Kitosí múlálání ká-uká.’
‘The bird from the palm starts not.’
This reminds us of the Histoire d’un bouton and the magical Teutonic
refrain—
‘Trink Bier, liebe, liebe Lieschen,’
arguing, says the witty author, so deep a devotion to that art which
hath power to soothe the savage breast. With time and tune well
developed, but wholly wanting in initiative, the wild men easily learned
music from the missionaries; yet they have always preferred their own
meaningless declamation. Of course the Kinyika is an illiterate
language.
The policy of the Wanyika is a rude and lawless liberty, equality,
fraternity. None commands where none obeys: consequently there is no
‘temperamentum of chief,’ no combination, and no possible improvement.
The headman plies his hoe, like the serf, in his little plot of maize or
manioc; and the clans will not unite even to protect life. Causes are
decided by a council of elders, according to the great African
code—ancient custom. The chief of the five Shaykhs is he of Rabai Mku;
but even he dare not arrogate to himself any authority. Pilfering is
common, robbing is rare; and a man caught in the act of stealing is
chastised by the proprietor with sword or bow. Adultery is punished by
the fine of a cow and abundance of liquor. The murderer is more often
mulcted than handed over for death to the family of the slain; and
little is said concerning the slaughter of a slave. Divided into
half-a-dozen sub-tribes, each barely sufficient to stock an English
village, these savages find petty political jealousies and intrigues as
necessary and as ready to hand as do the highly civilized.
The Wanyika readily attended the European schools as long as these were
a novelty; presently, with the characteristic African levity and
inconsequence, they grew weary of application, and they dubbed all who
so exerted themselves Wazingu, or fools. Yet in one point they are an
anomaly. They possess, in a high degree, the gift of many negro and
negroid races, an unstudied eloquence which the civilized speaker might
envy, and which, like poetry, seems to flourish most in the dawn of
civilization. To see, says a Brazilian author, men so eloquent and so
badly governed does not suggest that public speaking in the virility of
civilization is a great ruling power. Their unpremeditated speech rolls
like a torrent; every limb takes its part in the great work of
persuasion, and the peculiar rhythm of their copious dialect, favourable
to such displays of oratory, forms an effective combination. Few,
however, can ‘follow the words,’ that is to say, answer in due order the
heads of an opponent’s speech. Such power of memory and logical faculty
is not in them. The abuse of the gift of language makes them boisterous
in conversation, unable to keep silence—the negro race is ever
loquacious—and addicted to ‘bending their tongues like their bows for
lies.’ They cannot even, to use a Zanzibar German merchant’s phrase,
‘lie honestly.’ Their character may thus be briefly summed up: a futile
race of barbarians, drunken and immoral; cowardly and destructive;
boisterous and loquacious; indolent, greedy, and thriftless. Their
redeeming points are, a tender love of family, which displays itself by
the most violent ‘kin-grief,’ and a strong attachment to an uninviting
home.
A certain critic, who had probably never transgressed the bounds of
Europe, but who probably had read Macaulay (‘by judicious selection and
previous exaggeration, the intellect and the disposition of any human
being might be described as being made up of nothing but startling
contrasts’), thus complained of my description of Somal inconsistency.
‘This affectionately-atrocious people,’ he declares, ‘is painted in
strangely opposite colours.’ Can we not, then, conceive the high
development of destructiveness and adhesiveness, to speak
phrenologically, combining in the same individual? And are not the
peasantry of Connaught a familiar instance of the phenomenon? Such is
the negro’s innate destructiveness, that I have rarely seen him drop or
break an article without a loud burst of laughter. During fires at
Zanzibar he appears like a fiend, waving brands over his head, dancing
with delight, and spreading the flames, as much from instinct as with
the object of plunder. On the other hand, he will lose his senses with
grief for the death of near relatives: I have known several men who
remained in this state for years. But why enlarge upon what is apparent
to the most superficial observer’s eye?
The male dress is a tanned skin or a cotton cloth tied round the waist,
strips of hairy cowhide are bound like garters, or the ‘hibás’ of the
Bedawin Arabs, below the knee, and ostrich and other feathers are stuck
in the tufty poll. The ornaments are earrings of brass or iron wire, and
small metal chains: around the neck and shoulders, arms and ankles, hang
beads, leather talisman-cases, and ‘ghost-chairs’—the latter usually
some article difficult to obtain, for instance, a leopard’s claw. Those
near the seaboard have ceased to extract one or more of the lower
incisors—a custom whose object was probably the facilitating of
expectoration—and they now rarely tattoo, saying, ‘Why should we spoil
our bodies?’ They have abandoned the decoration to women, who raise the
cutis with a long sharp thorn, prick it with a knife-point, and wash the
wounds with red ochre and water. Abroad the Mnyika carries his bow and
long skin-quiver full of reed arrows, tipped with iron or hard wood, and
poisoned by means of some bulbous root: his shield is a flat strip of
cowhide doubled or trebled. He has also a spear, a knife at his waist
for cutting cocoa-nuts, a Rungu or knobstick in his girdle behind, and a
long sword, half sheathed, and sharpened near the point. He hangs round
his neck a gourd sneeze-mull, containing powdered tobacco with fragrant
herbs and dried plantain-flower. On journeys he holds a long thin staff
surmounted by a little cross, which serves to churn his blood and milk,
a common article of diet in East Africa—similarly, the Lapps bleed their
reindeer. He also slings to his back a dwarf three-legged stool, cut out
of a single block of hard wood. In the ‘Reise auf dem Weissen Nil’ (p.
32), extracted from the Vicar-General Knoblecher’s Journals, we read of
the chief Nighila and his followers carrying stools of tree-stumps,
ornamented with glass-ware. The other approximations of custom,
character, and climate between the North Equatorial basin of the White
River (Nile) and the coast of Eastern Intertropical Africa are
exceedingly interesting.
The costume of the Domus Aurea and Rosa Mystica is as simple: a skin or
a cloth round the loins, another veiling the bosom, and in some cases a
Marinda or broad lappet of woven beads, like the Coëoo of Guiana,
falling in front, with a second of wider dimensions behind. A flat ruff
of thick brass wire encircles the throat, making the head appear as in a
barber’s dish; white and red beads, or the scarlet beans of the Abrus
tree, form the earrings and necklace, bracelets and anklets, whilst a
polished coil of brass wire, wound round a few inches of the leg below
the knee, sets off the magnificent proportions of the limb. Young girls
wear long hair, and the bold bairn takes his bow and arrows before
thinking of a waist-cloth.
The Wanyika are a slave importing tribe: they prefer the darker women of
the South to, and they treat them better than, their own wives. Children
are sold, as in India, only if famine compels, and all have the usual
hatred of slave merchants, the ‘sellers of men.’ When a certain Ali bin
Nasir was Governor of Mombasah he took advantage of a scarcity to feed
the starving Wanyika with grain from the public depôts. He was careful,
however, to secure, as pledges of repayment, the wives and children of
his debtors, and these becoming insolvent, he sold off the whole
deposit. Such a transaction was little suspected by our acute
countrymen, when, to honour enlightened beneficence, they welcomed with
all the plaudits of Exeter Hall, ‘that enlightened Arab statesman, His
Excellency Ali bin Nasir, Envoy Extraordinary of H.M. the Imam of
Muscat, to the Court of H. B. Majesty;’ presented him with costly
specimens of geology, and gold chronometers; entertained him at the
public expense, and sent him from Aden to Zanzibar in the Hon. East
India Company’s brig of war, Tigris. This Oriental votary of free trade
came to a merited bad end. He was one of the prisoners taken by the
doughty B’ana Mtakha of Sewi, where the late Sayyid’s ill-starved and
worse-managed force was destroyed by the Bajuni spear. Recognized by the
vengeful savages, he saw his sons expire in torments; he was terribly
mutilated, and at last he was put to death with all the refinements of
cruelty. And he deserved his fate.
The Wanyika consider service, like slavery, a dishonour: they have also
some food prejudices which render them troublesome to Europeans, and
those who live amongst them are obliged to engage Moslem menials. As
regards the success of the ‘Mombas Mission,’ which was established in
1846, and upon which a large sum of money has been expended, the less
said the better. Dr Krapf had started with the magnificent but visionary
scheme of an ‘Apostle’s Street,’ a chain of mission posts stretching
across Africa from sea to sea: he never, however, made converts enough
to stock a single house. Those unacquainted with savage life would think
it an easy task to overthrow the loose fabric of wild superstitions, and
to raise upon its ruins a structure, rude, but still of higher type.
Practically, the reverse is the case. The Wanyika, for instance, are so
bound and chained by Adá, or custom, that inevitable public opinion,
whose tyranny will not permit a man to sow his lands when he pleases; so
daunted and cowed by the horrors of their faith; so thoroughly
conservative in the worst sense of the word, and so enmeshed by tribal
practices, of which not the least important is their triple initiation,
that the slave of rule and precedent lacks power to set himself free. We
may easily understand this. Religion is the mental expression of a race,
and it cannot advance in purity without a correspondent intellectual
improvement on the part of its votaries. On the other hand, not a few
nations, especially in the dawn of civilization, have risen despite
their follies of faith: but these are peoples who have within them the
germs of progress. Judaism did not make the Falasha of East Africa, nor
the remote colonists of Southern Arabia, an intellectual people: the
Jews of Aden, to this day, show no traces of mental superiority over
their neighbours. Christianity has done nothing for Abyssinia or Egypt:
these lands are inhabited by peoples which have remained as nearly
stationary as it is possible for human nature. Nowhere, indeed, has ‘the
Church’ proved herself in the long course of ages a more complete and
hopeless failure than in her own birthplace, and in her peculiar ethnic
centre, Syria. Here the Marronites are in no ways superior, and in many
points, such as courage and personal dignity, inferior to their
neighbours, the Metawali, who have a debased religion, and the Druzes,
who have none. El Islam, also, has not much to boast of on the coasts of
Guinea and of Zanzibar, except that it has abolished certain
abominations such as witch-killing, twin-murder, and poison ordeals, of
which many have been practised in semi-civilized Europe and Asia. When,
therefore, we tell the world that the Bible made England or the Koran
Stambul, we merely assist in propagating a fallacy.
-----
Footnote 18:
From Nyika, the wild land, comes Mnyika, the wild lander; Wanyika, the
wild land folk; and Kinyika, the wild land tongue.
Footnote 19:
The Moslem Wasawahili adapts the modified Arabic form, ‘Shaytani.’
Footnote 20:
I say East African because the western regions, especially Fanti-land
and Dahome, believe in a Hades, or world of shades, which is
apparently derived from Egypt. Of this I have spoken in my Mission to
Dahome. Vitruvius exactly explains what my meaning is in the
celebrated passage, Virgo civis Corinthia, jam matrem nuptiis,
implicito morbo decessit; post sepulturam ejus quibus ea viva poculis
delectabatur, nutrix collecta et composita in calatho pertulit ad
monumentum, et in summo collocavit.
CHAPTER V.
FROM MOMBASAH TO THE PANGANI RIVER.
The sweeping sword of Time
Has sung its death-dirge o’er the ruined fanes.
QUEEN MAB.
Not a head of game, not a hippopotamus, was to be found near Mombasah.
We finished our geographical inquiries; shook hands with divers
acquaintances; re-shipped, after sundry little difficulties, on board
the Riami; and on the 24th of January we left the turbulent island with
gladdened hearts. The accidents of voyage now turned in our favour:
there was a bright fresh breeze and a counter-current running southward
thirty or thirty-five miles a day. After 6 hours of drowsy morning
sailing, Ra’as Tewi, a picturesque headland, hove in sight, and two
hours more brought the Riami to anchor at Sandy Point, in Gasi (جاسى)
Bay. It lies half-way \[Arabic] between Mombasah and Wasin Island, and
the position is correctly laid down in the ‘Mission Map.’[21] It is a
mere roadstead, without other protection against the long sweep and
swell of the Indian Ocean than a few scattered ‘washes,’ and a coralline
islet. The settlement lies at some distance from the shore, deep-bosomed
in trees, behind a tall screen of verdant mangrove; only the nodding
cocoa, sure indicator of man’s presence in East Africa, towering high
over the plebeian underwood, betrays its position to the mariner. The
large village of wattle and dab huts is inhabited, like Mtuapa and
Takaungu, by remnants of the proud Mazrui irreconcileables, still
self-exiled from Mombasah. They live under the Shaykh Abdullah bin
Khamis, and a sister of Shaykh Mubarak of Mombasah, who is said to
display peculiar energy. They have given refuge to fugitive slaves from
Marka, and behind the coast-line they have founded a new settlement,
Mwasagnombe. It is not improbable that, in common with their brethren
established in other villages, they look forward to recovering Mombasah,
their old appanage.
Gasi is surrounded by plantations, and the Arabs, unmolested by the
Wadigo savages, to whom the fertile land belongs, live in comparative
comfort. Our crew armed themselves to accompany my companion, who,
despite the bad name of the people, was civilly received on shore, with
sundry refreshments of cocoa-nut milk and cake of rasped pulp and
rice-flour. The footprints of a small lion appeared upon the sands, but
we were not young enough to undertake the fruitless toil of tracking it.
This was the breeding season, as the frequent birds’-nests proved.
Ensued a cool, breezy night on board the Riami, the thermometer showing
75° (F.). Our gallant captain, the melancholist, sat up till dawn,
chatting with Said bin Salim, who trembled at the sound of scattered
washes, and at the wind moaning over the coral bank and through the
barren ‘forests of the sea.’
About sunrise we again made sail, and, guided by that excellent
landmark, the Peaks of Wasin, whose height is in charts 2500 feet, we
entered, after three hours, the narrow channel, with never less than 5
fathoms of water, which, running nearly due east and west, separates
Wasin Island from the continent. The north of this coralline bank, an
‘insula opaca,’ about 2¼ miles long by 1 in breadth, is defended by
sundry outlying ledges and diminutive cliffs, where the gulls and terns
take refuge, and upon which the combing sea breaks its force. The low
southern shore is rich in the gifts of floatsom and jetsom; here the
tide, flowing amongst the mangrove fringes and under shady crags, forms
little bays, by no means unpicturesque. To windward, or south, lies the
Wasin Bank, with three or four plateaux of tree-tufted rock emerging a
few feet above sea-level.
The Island, which does a little cultivation, belongs to Zanzibar, and
the only settlement, about the centre of its length, is on the northern
shore, fronting Wanga Bandar on the Continent. Wasin contains three
Mosques, long flat-roofed rooms of coral rag and lime ranged obliquely
to face Meccah, and scattered amongst little huts and large houses of
‘bordi’ or mangrove timber: the latter are tied with coir rope and
plastered over with clay, which in rare cases is whitewashed. The
sloping thatch-roof already approaches in size and in sharpness of pitch
the disproportions of the Madagascar cottage. Huge calabashes extend
their fleshy arms over the hovels, affording the favourite luxury of a
cool lounge, and giving from afar a something of pleasant village aspect
to the squalid settlement. Water must be brought from the mainland; the
people own it to be brackish, but declare that it is not unwholesome.
The climate is infamous for breeding fever and helcoma, the air being
poisoned by cowries festering under a tropical sun, and by two large
graveyards—here also, as at Zanzibar, the abodes of the dead are built
amongst the habitations of the living. The population is a bigoted and
low-minded race, Hassádin (envious fellows) of evil eye, say the
Zanzibarians; a mixture of lymphatic Arabs, hideous Wasawahili, ignoble
half-castes, and thievish slaves. The Sayyid maintains no garrison here;
the Banyans have been forbidden to deal in cowries, and the native
merchants have all the profits such as they are.
I could hear nothing of Mr Cooley’s ‘tribe named Masimba, on the coast
at Wassína (Wasin Island), near Mombasa,’ a term which he translates
‘lions,’ and identifies with the Zimba invaders of Do Couto. There is,
however, a district of that name between Wasin and Gasi; and it may be
connected with the range crossed by M. Rebmann, in 1847, and usually
written Shimba. In the interior the word Masimba is used when addressing
man or woman, and the root appears to be identical with that of the
Vazimba or aborigines of Ankova. The people of Wasin send caravans of
100 men to the interior, viâ Wanga Bandar. They set out about the end of
February, make some 20 marches, and return with ivory and slaves after
about four months.
Landing, we found the shore crowded with unarmed spectators, who did not
even return our salams: we resolved in future to reserve such greetings
for those who deserve them. After sitting half an hour in a mat-shed,
redolent with drying cowries and dignified with the name of Furzeh, or
Custom House, presided over by a young Bohrah from Cutch, we were
civilly accosted by an old man, whose round head showed him to be a
Hindostani. Abd el Karim led us to his house, seated us in chairs upon
the terrace, and mixed for us a cooling sherbet in a kind of one-handled
blue and white vase, not usually, in Europe at least, devoted to such
purpose. The Riami discharging cargo, we walked into the jungle,
followed by a ragged tail of men and boys, to inspect some old
Portuguese wells: as we traversed the village all the women fled—a proof
that El Islam here flourishes. This part of the island is thinly veiled
with a red argillaceous soil which produces a thick and matted growth of
thorny plants, creepers, and parasites: eastward, where the mould is
deeper, there is richer vegetation, and a few stunted cocoas have taken
root. After fighting through the jungle, we came upon two pits sunk in
the soft rock: Said bin Salim was bitterly derided whilst he sounded the
depth, 40 feet; and by way of revenge, I dropped a hint about buried
gold, which has doubtless been the cause of aching arms and hearts to
the churls of Wasin. There is no game on the Island or on the main: in
the evening, after a warm bath amongst the mangroves, we left the dirty
hole without a shade of regret.
The coast is here concealed by the usual thickset hedge of verdure,
above which nod the tufts of straggling palms: its background is the
rocky purple wall of Bondei—Capt. Owen’s ‘Sheemba Range of Hills, about
1500 feet high’—here and there broken by tall blue cones. After 1 h. 30
min. we sighted Wanga Bandar, where the land was smoking; this place has
rarely the honour of appearing in maps. The environs belong to the
Wadigo, amongst whom Said bin Salim lost a slave-girl: she had gone on
leave of absence to her tribe, and though she never returned, he
received from her an annual remittance of a dollar. These people, who
are divided into half-a-dozen clans, occupy a fine high country which
extends westward to Usumbara: they dwell in large villages, fenced to
keep out the Wamasai, and they are agriculturists, fond of Jete, or
public markets, at which they dispose of their grain to the
coast-traders. Those whom we saw were poor-looking men: their bows were
well turned and bent, with brass knobs and strings of cowgut; the
notched and neatly feathered arrows had triangular iron piles. The
women, who veiled the bosom, were remarkably plain, and apparently had
never seen a European. These Wadigo with their southern neighbours, the
Wasegeju, are porters of the inland traffic. Caravans, if they may so be
called, numbering sometimes a hundred men, slaves included, set out at
the beginning of the rains in March or April, from Wanga and other
little ‘Bandars’ on the coast. If the capital be $1000, they distribute
it into $400 of beads, and brass and iron wires (Nos. 7 and 8), with
$400 of American domestics and cotton-stuff’s of sorts: the remainder
serves to pay 40 porters, who each receive $10 per trip, half before
starting and the rest upon return. After twenty days’ march, these
trading parties arrive at Umasai and the adjacent countries; they remain
there bartering for three or four months, and then march back laden with
ivory and driving a few slaves purchased en route.
Our Nakhoda again showed symptoms of ‘dodging:’ he had been allowed to
ship cargo from Mombasah to Wasin, and thereupon he founded a claim or
rather a right to carry goods from Wasin to Tanga. Unable to disabuse
his mind by mild proceedings, I threatened to cut the cable, and thus
once more, the will of Japhet prevailing over that of Shem, we succeeded
about 1 P.M., not without aid from an Omani craft, in hauling up our
ground-tackle. The old Riami, groaning in every rib, flirted with some
reefs, and floated into the open sea, whose combing waves were foaming
under a stiff N. Easter. As we sped merrily along Said bin Salim busied
himself in calculating the time it would take to round the several
promontories. But when the water smoothened under the lee of Pemba
Island he became bold enough to quote these martial lines:—
‘I have backed the steed since my eyes saw light,
And have fronted Death till he feared my sight;
And the riven helm and the piercèd mail
Were my youthtide’s dream, are my manhood’s delight.’
After two hours of brisk sailing, we lay abreast of a headland called by
our crew Kwala (Chala Point of the Hydrographic Map), bounding the deep
inlet and outlying islets of Jongolia-ni or Chongolia-ni. Approaching
the gape of Tanga Bay, he shortened sail, or we might have made it at 4
P.M.: the entrance, however, is intricate; we had no pilot, and the crew
preferred hobbling in under a bit of artemon or foresail, which they
took a good hour to hoist. At sunset, having threaded the ‘Bab’ or
narrow rock-bound passage which separates Ra’as Rashid, the northern
mainland-spit, a precipitous bluff some 20 feet high, from the head of
Tanga Islet, we glided into the smooth bay, and anchored in three
fathoms, opposite and about half a mile from the town, which is known by
the cocoas and calabashes crowning the ridge.
Tanga Bay is placed by Captain Owen in S. lat. 4° 35′, or five miles N.
of Wasin Island, and thus the positions of the whole Coast are thrown
out.[22] It is in S. lat. 5°; South of Wasin, and between that place and
the mouth of the Panga-ni river. This extraordinary error can have been
made only by a confusion of the survey-sheets, and it appears the more
singular in a work of such correctness. The inlet, called probably from
its shape, Tanga, the sail, or kilt, is five miles deep by four broad,
and the entrance is partially barred by a coralline bank, the site of
the ancient Arab settlement. Tanga Islet, a lump of green, still
contains a scatter of huts, and a small square stone Gurayza (fort),
whose single gun lies dismounted: it is well wooded, but the water
obtained by digging pits in the sand is scarcely potable. As a
breakwater it is imperfect during the N. East trades: when a high sea
rolls up ships must anchor under the mainland, and when the S. West
monsoon blows home it is almost impossible to leave the harbour without
accident. The bay, embanked with abundant verdure and surrounded by
little settlements, receives the contents of two fresh-water streamlets:
westward (311°) is the Mtofu, and N. of it (355°) the Mto Mvo-ni[23] or
Kiboko-ni—Hippopotamus river. The latter at several miles distant from
its mouth must be crossed in a ferry; it affords sweet water, but the
people of Tanga prefer scratching into their sand to the trouble of
fetching the pure element. The ‘Kiboko’ is found in small numbers at the
embouchures of these islands, and often within a few yards of where the
boys bathed. I defer an account of our sport till we meet that unamiable
pachyderm upon the Panga-ni river.
Like all the towns of the ‘Mrima’ proper, which here, I have said,
begins, Tanga is a patch of thatched pent-roofed huts, built upon a bank
overlooking the sea in a straggling grove of cocoa and calabash. The
population is laid down at 4000 to 5000 souls, including 20 Banyans and
15 Baloch, with the customary consumptive Jemadar. The citizens are
chiefly occupied with commerce, and they send twice a year in May to
June and in October to November, after the Great and Little Rains,
trading parties to Chaga and Umasai. At such times they find on the way
an abundance of water: the land, however, supplies no food. From Tanga
to Mhina-ni (the place of Mhina, Henna, or the P.N. of man, in Herr
Petermann’s Map ‘Mikihani,’ and in Mr Wakefield Mihináni), on the Upper
Panga-ni river, passing between Mbaramo and Pare, are 13 marches: here
the road divides, one branch leading northward to Chaga, the other
westward across the river to the Wamasai’s country. The total would be
15 stages, at least 20 days for men carrying[24] merchandise. These
caravans are seldom short of 400 to 500 men, Arabs and Wasawahili,
Pagazi or free porters who carry 50 lbs. each, and slaves. The imports
are chiefly cotton-stuffs, iron wires (Senyenge), brass wires (Másángo),
and beads, of which some 400 varieties are current in these countries.
The usual return consists chiefly of ivory, per annum about 70,000 lbs.,
we were told—a quantity hardly credible. I heard of some gold dust from
Umasai being sent as a specimen to Sayyid Mayed: they bring also a few
slaves, some small mangey camels, and half-wild asses.[25] The citizens
trade with the coast-savages, and manufacture, from imported iron,
billhooks and hard wares for the Wasegeju. This tribe, once powerful,
now uninfluential, preserves a tradition that when expelled with the
Wasawahili from Shungaya by the Gallas, it migrated to the River Ozi or
Dana (Zana), to the Bay of Kilifi, and finally to Wanga and Tanga. The
dialect, they say, is similar to that of the Pokomo of the Dana, hence
probably Mr Guillain (i. 402) declares them to have been indigens of the
coast about Melinde. Still a violent, warlike, and furious brood, as
described by Do Couto (Decad. xi. chap. xxi.), they hunt the Bondei
Hills for slaves, and of late years, having sundry blood-feuds with
their neighbours the Wadigo, they have sought the protection of King
Kimwere and of the Wazegura race south of the Panga-ni river. Tanga has
for some time since been spared the mortification of the Wamasai, who in
this vicinity have driven and harried many a herd. I here saw two of
their women, veritable human Cynocephali, flat-headed, with receding
brows à la Robespierre, eyes close together, long low noses with open
nostrils, projecting muzzles, and ears in strips. The land is now,
comparatively speaking, thickly inhabited, and dotted with flourishing
villages, Mvo-ni, Ambo-ni, Janja-ni, and others.
The only modern tribe which figures in the history of the coast is the
Wasegeju. We first read of them in 1589, when the Zimba or Wazimba
Kafirs, who had devastated the dependencies of Tete and Rios de Sena, on
the Zambeze, swarmed northwards, massacring, and, it is said, devouring,
all who opposed them between Kilwa and Mombasah. After destroying Kilwa,
where they are reported to have killed and eaten 3000 Moors, men and
women, they appeared upon the seaboard opposite Mombasah, whilst Thomé
de Souza Coutinho was attacking the rebellious city in which the Corsair
Ali Bey had taken refuge. The savages sided with the Portuguese, crossed
the ford, and fell upon the townspeople with assegai and arrow. The
citizens fled, preferring to face the sword and the musket of the
Christian invader. After this the Zimbas marched upon Melinde, and
threatened it with the fate of Kilwa and Mombasah. But the firmness of
the Sultan and the courage of Mattheus Mendes de Vasconcellos were equal
to the occasion: they reinforced themselves with a host of 3000
Wasegeju, and they succeeded in annihilating the cannibals. In 1592 the
Wasegeju, again summoned to the assistance of Melinde, slew its enemy,
the Shaykh of Kilifi. The last Shirazi Sultan of Mombasah, determining
to avenge the death of his kinsmen, assembled 5000 wild men from the
neighbouring hills to attack Melinde. The Wasegeju, however, not only
defeated and slew him, with three of his sons, and many of the chief
Moslems who accompanied him; they also captured Mombasah, and sending a
young son of the defunct Sultan to Melinde, they gave up to it a city,
which for a whole century had been its deadly enemy. The name
‘Mosseguaies, very barbarous,’ appears in the map of John Senex (1712).
The tribe is mentioned by Dr Krapf (‘Wasegedshu’ Church Missionary
Intelligencer of 1849, p. 86), and by Mr Wakefield (Wasegeju, p. 212).
We landed on the morning of Jan. 27, and were received with peculiar
cordiality. In the absence of the Arab Governor, Mohammed bin Ali, we
were met upon the seashore by Khalfan bin Abdillah, Hammed bin Abdillah,
and the headman Kibaya Mchanga, with sundry Diwans and Wasawihili
notables; by the Jemadar, with his Baloch, and by Miyan Sahib, a daft
old Hindu, who here collects the customs. They conducted us up the bank
to the hut formerly tenanted by M. Erhardt, seated us on chairs facing
couches; brought coffee, fruit, and milk, with a goat, by way of
welcome, and succeeded in winning our hearts. That day was spent in
inquiries about the commerce and geography of the interior, and in
listening to wild tales concerning the Æthiopic Olympus, the Sierra
Nevada of Eastern Africa, which Jupiter Cooley decreed to be eternally
snowless. Most of the people here pronounced the word Kilima-ngao ‘Mont
bouclier,’ Ngáo being the umbo or shield-boss: from others I heard
Kilima-njaro, which in Kikwafi, according to the missionaries, means
‘Mountain of Greatness.’[26] Here Sheddad bin ’Ad built the City of
Brass, and encrusted the hill-top with a silver dome, that shines with
various and surprising colours. Here the Jánn, beings made of fire, as
humans are of earth and mermen of water, hold their court, and baffle
the attempts of man’s adventurous feet. The mountain recedes as the
traveller advances, and the higher he ascends the loftier rises the
summit. At last blood bursts from the nostrils, the fingers bend
backwards (with cramp?), and the hardiest is fain to stop. Amongst this
Herodotian tissue of fact and fable[27] ran one golden thread of
truth,—all testified to the intense cold.
Westward of the great mountain are placed in the ‘Mombas Mission Map’
the Wabilikimo (Wambelikimo), ‘literally the two measuring, i. e. twice
the measure from the middle fingertip to the elbow. This is of course an
exaggeration, but they are no doubt a diminutive race of men. They come
to Jagga to trade, where they are called Wakoningo.’ The name, however,
‘Kimo,’ or Vazimba, the first occupants of Ankova (Madagascar), is
mentioned even by Rochon: he makes them a people of pigmies, in stature
averaging three feet six inches, of a lighter colour than the negro,
long-armed, and with short woolly hair. South of Kafa, again, the
Doko[28] race is said to be only four feet in stature. Formerly we
explained these traditional Blemmyes, or pigmies, by supposing them to
be apes that have been submitted to savage exaggeration. But the state
of the question has been completely changed since the Second Expedition
of my friend Paul du Chaillu, who, despite the late Mr John Craufurd,
discovered, the ‘Obongo,’ a race not only dwarfish, but living close to
a tribe of unusually tall and powerful negroes: curious to say, they
occupy about the same parallel of latitude as do the traditional
Wabilikimo.
In the evening we were honoured with a Ngoma Khu, or full orchestra, for
which a dollar was but a paltry bakhshish, were noise worth coin. The
spectators appeared by no means a comely race, but they were healthier
and in far better condition than the churls of Wasin. I saw, however,
amongst them many cases of leprous white spots on the palms and soles.
We took leave at night, provided by the Díwáns with a bullock and
half-a-dozen goats, with fruit, and with milk. These headmen, who prefer
to be entitled Sultan, are in the proportion of half-a-dozen per
village, each one omnipotent within his own walls. In their presence the
many-headed may not sit on chairs, carpets, or fine mats; use umbrellas,
wear turbans, nor walk in the pattens called Kabkab: moreover, on solemn
occasions such as this none but the Diwan may pace and whirl through the
Pyrrhic dance. Said bin Salim described them as a kind of folk that want
to eat—in fact, des escrocs: they accompanied us, however, gratis, on
our various excursions, and when we went out shooting, our difficulty
was to shirk an escort.
Knowing that Arab and Persian colonies had been planted at an early
epoch in this part of the Sawahil, I accepted with pleasure a guide to
one of the ancient cities. Setting out at 8 A.M. with a small body of
spearmen, I walked four or five miles S. West of Tanga on the Mtangata
road over a country dry as Arabian sand, and strewed with the bodies of
huge millepedes. The hard red and yellow clays produced in plenty holcus
and sesamum, manioc and papaws; mangoes and pine-apples were rare, but
the Jamli, or Indian damson (in Arabic Zám and in Kisawahili
Mzambaráni), the egg-plant, and the toddy-tree grew wild. The baobabs
were in new leaf, the fields were burned in readiness for rain, and the
peasants dawdled about, patting the clods with bits of wood. At last we
traversed a Khor, or lagoon drained by the receding tide, and insulating
the ruins: then, after a walk of five miles over crab-mounds, we sighted
our destination. From afar it resembled an ancient castle. Entering by a
gap in the enceinte, I found a parallelogram some 200 yards long, of
solid coralline or lime, in places rent by the roots of sturdy trees,
well bastioned and loop-holed for bows and muskets. The site is raised
considerably above the mean level of the country, attesting its
antiquity: it is concealed from the seaside by a screen of trees and by
the winding creek, that leaves the canoes high during the ebb-tide; full
water makes it an island. In the centre, also split by huge coiling
creepers, and in the last stage of dilapidation, are the remains of a
Mosque showing signs of a rude art. I was led with some pretension to a
writing, perpendicularly scratched upon a stuccoed column: it proved to
be the name of a lettered Msawahili—Kimángá wá Muamádi (Mohammed) Adi
(Walad) Makame—and the character was more like Kufic than anything that
I had ever seen at Harar. The ruins of houses are scattered over the
enceinte, and a masonry revetted and chumam’d well, sunk 8 feet deep in
the coralline, yields a sufficiency of water with an earthy taste. There
are some others of similar style, but bone-dry, upon the creek-bank—they
had probably been built from above, as the Arabs and Indians still do,
and allowed to settle. The modern village of cajan-thatched huts,
palisaded with trees, and the hovels of a few Wasegejgu savages, who use
the ruins as pens for their goats, and stunted high-humped cows, attest
present degradation. There were a few of the small Umasai asses, which
are said to be useless for travelling. Amongst the children I remarked
an Albino with flaxen hair and reddish-white skin, as if affected by
leprosy. None of the tenants preserved any tradition about the place,
which they call ‘Changa Ndumi.’ The Arabs, however, who accompanied me,
declared that they belonged to the ‘old ancient’ Y’urabi, the dynasty
preceding the present rulers of Oman; and if so, they must have been
built before the middle of the last century (A.D. 1741). We returned in
time to witness a funeral. The mourners were women with blackened faces,
and habited in various coloured clothes, unpleasantly outlining angles
and segments of circles. They ‘keened’ all day, and the drum paraded its
monotonous sounds till the dawn streaked with pale light the shoulders
of the far Bondei hills. I visited the little heap of cajan huts called
Jánjá-ni, and lying half a mile to the north-east: here-were four civil
men, Bohrahs from Hindostan, who lived by the cowrie trade.
On every fifth day the Tanga people hold at the neighbouring village of
Ambo-ni a market with the savages of the interior. Having assumed an
Arab dress—a turban of portentous circumference, and a long
henna-stained shirt—and accompanied by Said bin Salim with his
Excalibur; by the consumptive Jemadar who sat down to rest every ten
minutes, and by Khalfan bin Abdillah, an old Arab who had constituted
himself cicerone, we attended the ‘Golio’ on January 29. Walking along
the coast, we passed through a village rich in cocoas and in iron
forges, which were hard at work: a school of young hopefuls was busily
employed in loud reading and in swaying the body. The country was pretty
and fertile, rich in manioc and cocoas, in plantains, and the Ricinus
shrub; there were a few mangoes—the people asked for the stones to
plant—and many Dom or Theban palms (Crucifera Thebaica), whose
bifurcations and re-bifurcations are so remarkable, and whose crimson
fruit is eaten as in West Africa. Formerly the land was harried by the
beef-eating Wamasai, hence the scarcity of cattle. After two miles we
crossed some tidal creeks, corded over with creepers, and tree roots
growing from black mire; we waded a sandy inlet, and we forded the small
sweet surface drain Mtofu, which had water up to the waist. Another mile
brought us to the River Mvo-ni (of Behemoth), here called the Zigi—two
names in three miles, a truly African fashion! Salted by the tide, it
flows under banks forty to fifty feet high, crowned with calabash and
other jungle trees. Women were being ferried over: in ecstasies of
terror they buried their faces between their knees till the moment of
danger had passed away. These savages are by no means a maritime race,
they have no boats, they rarely fish, and being unable to swim, they are
stopped by the narrowest stream unless they can bridge it by felling a
tree in the right direction, as it is said the beavers do.
Having crossed the river, we traversed plantations of cocoas and
plantains, and ascending a steep hill, we found, after five miles of
walking, the market ‘warm,’ as Easterns say, upon the seaward slope. All
Tanga was there. The wild people, Wasumbara and Washenzi,[29] Wadigo and
Wasegeju, were clothed in greasy hides and cotton wrappers of inveterate
grime. Every man carried his bow and arrow, his knobstick (Rungo), his
club, his sword, and his shield, but few owned muskets. Some had come
from afar, as was shown by their low wooden stools and small churning
staves. The women were more numerous, and harder worked; the girls were
bare-breasted, and every matron had her babe tied in a bundle to the
back, its round black head nodding with every movement of the maternal
person. Yet it never cries—that model baby! They carried, besides masses
of beads strung round the neck, zinc and brass armlets all down the
arms, and huge collars and anklets of metal, heavy loads of valuable
stuff; and others sat opposite their belongings, chaffering and
gesticulating upon knotty questions of fragmentary farthings. These
ill-used and hard-favoured beings, with patterns burnt into their skins,
paid toll for ingress at a place where cords were stretched across the
path, a primitive style of raising octroi. The Bedawin exchanged their
lean sheep and goats, cocoas and bananas, grain and ghee, for white and
blue cottons, beads, and rude iron ware—knives, bills, and hatchets,
made on the coast of metal brought from Zanzibar. The luxuries were
dried fish, salt, Tembo or cocoa-toddy, spices, needles and thread,
fish-hooks, and bluestone used in their rude medicine. Formerly a large
quantity of ivory found its way to the ‘Golio’; now it is purchased in
the interior by trading parties. The groups, gathered under the several
trees, were noisy, but civil to us. Often, however, a lively scene,
worthy of Donnybrook in its palmiest days, takes place, knobstick and
dagger being used by the black factions as freely as fists and
shillelaghs in more civilized lands. At noon we returned over the sands
which were strewed with sea-slugs, and in places chœtodons lay dead in
the sun. The heat of the ground made my bare-footed companions run from
time to time for the shade, like the dogs in Tibet.
Sundry excursions delayed us six days at Tanga. We failed to bag any
hippopotamus, the animals being here very timid. A herd of six,
commanded by a large black old male, gave us a few long shots; at first
the beasts raised the whole head and part of the neck; afterwards
nothing but the eyes were exposed. The people declare that they always
charge a man who has left a pregnant wife at home. Our only result was
the dropping of my big Beattie (2 barrelled, 24 lbs.) into the water. I
had fired it when sitting in a mangrove tree, and ‘purchase’ being
wanted, I narrowly escaped following it. The river, however, was only 2
fathoms deep, and we presently recovered it by diving: the Arabs usually
claim half the value of things thus reclaimed.
Our visit ended with a distribution of embroidered caps and Jamdani
muslins, and we received farewell visits till dark. At 5 A.M. on Feb.
2nd, after a sultry night varied by bursts of rain, which sounded like
buckets sluicing the poop, we drifted out to sea under the influence of
the Barri or land-breeze. Five hours of lazy sailing ran us to an open
road between Tanga and Panga-ni, called Mtangata, which, according to
the guides, was derived from the people living on toasted grains during
war or famine. It is evidently the Portuguese ‘Montagane,’ whose Shaykh,
with 200 men, assisted in 1528 Nuno da Cunha against the Sultan of
Mombasah. Exposed to the N. East wind, and imperfectly defended by two
low and green-capped islets, Yambe (North) and Karangú (East), it is
rendered by the surf and rollers of the Indian Ocean a place of
trembling to the coast sailors. The country appears fertile, and a line
of little villages, Kisizi, Marongo, Tamba-ni, and others, skirt the
shore. Here we spent the day, in order to inspect some ruins, where we
had been promised Persian inscriptions and other curios.
After casting anchor, I entered a canoe and was paddled across a bay
once solid ground, in whose encroaching waters, according to local
tradition, a flourishing city, extending over the whole creek side, had
been submerged. The submarine tombs were like those of the Dead Sea:
apparent to the Wasawahili’s eyes, they eluded mine. The existing
settlements are all modern, and none of them appear upon Capt. Owen’s
charts. After an hour’s work we pushed up a narrow creek, grounding at
every ten yards, and presently we reached an inlet, all mangrove above
and mud below. Landing at a village called Tongo-ni, where the people
stood to receive us, we followed the shore for a few paces, turned
abruptly to the left, over broken ground, and sighted the ruins.
Moonlight would have tempered the view: it was a grisly spectacle in the
gay and glowing shine of the sun. A city was once here; and the remnants
of its mosques showed solid and handsome building, columns of neatly cut
coralline blocks and elaborate Mihrabs, or prayer-niches. Fragments of
homesteads in times gone by everywhere cumbered the ground, and the
shattered walls, choked with the luxuriant growth of decay, sheltered in
their shade the bat and the night-jar. I was shown in an extensive
cemetery the grave of a Wali or Santon, whose very name had perished.
His last resting-place, however, was covered with a cajan roof, floored
with tamped earth, cleanly swept and garnished with a red and white
flag. Other tombs bore cacophonous Wasawahili appellations embalmed in
mortally bad Arabic epitaphs: these denoted an antiquity of about 200
years. Beyond the legend above noticed, none could give me information
concerning the people that have passed away: the architecture, however,
denoted a race far superior to the present owners of the land.
Each of the principal mausolea had its tall stele of cut coralline,
denoting, like the Egyptian and Syrian Shahadah, the position of the
corpse’s head. In one of these, the gem of the place, was fixed a
chipped fragment of Persian glazed tile, with large azure letters in the
beautiful character called ‘Ruka’a,’ enamelled on a dirty-yellow ground.
The legend,شيد روشن (Shid i raushan, the ‘bright sun’), may be part of a
panegyrical or devotional verse removed from the frieze of some tomb or
mosque. The country people hold it an impregnable proof that the men of
Ajem once ruled in Tongo-ni:[30] but the tile, like two China platters,
also mortared into the Shahadah, is evidently an importation from the
far north. It was regarded with superstitious reverence by the
Wasawahili, who informed me that some years before Kimwere, Sultan of
Usumbara, had sent a party of bold men to bear it away: of these,
nineteen died mysterious deaths, and the relic was thereupon returned to
its place. A few muslins, here representing dollars, had a wonderful
effect upon their fancies: I was at once allowed by the principal Diwan
to remove it; although no one would bear a hand to aid the Beni Nár, or
Sons of Fire, as the Arabs honourably style our countrymen. The tile, a
common encaustic affair, found its way to the Royal Geographical
Society; nor did the East African expedition feel itself the worse for
having sent it. We did not visit the Támbá-ni settlement, where,
according to the people, there is a coralline mosque, and tombs are to
be seen under the seawater.
Our purchase concluded, we returned to the Riámi, followed by the
headmen, who after refreshment of dates, Maskat Halwa (sweetmeats), and
coffee, naturally became discontented with the promised amount of
‘hishmat,’ or honorarium. At last they begged us to return, and to
assist them in digging for sweet water. There were four or five
carefully-built wells in the ruined city; but all had been exhausted by
age, and the water supplied by the lowland-pits was exceedingly
nauseous. As a rule, these people readily apply for advice and
assistance to the ‘Wazungu,’ or wise-men, as Europeans are styled; and
if showers chance to accompany the traveller, he is looked upon as a
beneficent being, not without a suspicion of white magic. Here, with $6,
we took leave of pleasant old Khalfan, our guide, a veteran, but still
hale and vigorous: no Omani Arab is, I may again remark, worth his salt
till his beard is powdered by Time.
At 5 A.M. on February 3rd, having shipped a pilot, we hoisted sail;
after three hours we ran past Maziwi Island and slipped down before the
light and tepid morning breeze to the port of Panga-ni. It was necessary
to land with some ceremony at a place which I determined to make our
starting-point into the interior. Presently after arrival I sent Said
bin Salim, in all his bravery, to deliver the Sayyid of Zanzibar’s
circular letters addressed to the Wáli, or Governor, to the Jemadar, to
the Collector of Customs, and to the several Diwáns. All this
preparation for a trifle of 80 miles! But we are in Africa; and even in
Europe such a raid, through an enemy’s country is not always easy.
My companion and I landed in the cool of the evening with our Portuguese
servants and our luggage. We were received with all honours of noise and
crowding. The orchestra consisted of three monstrous drums (Ngoma Khu),
caissons of cocoa-trunk, covered at both ends with goat-leather, and
pounded, like the pulpit, with fist; and of Siwa or bassoons of hard
blackwood, at least five feet long. These were enlivened by a pair of
Zumari, or flageolets, whose vile squeaking set the teeth on edge; by
the Zeze, or guitar; the Kinanda, or banjo; by the Barghumi or Kudu
horn; and by that instrument of dignity, the Upatu, a brass pan, the
primitive cymbal, whose bottom is performed upon by little sticks like
cabbage-stalks. The Jemadar, Asad Ullah, came en grand’ tenue. The
Diwans capered and pyrrhic’d before us with the pomp and circumstance of
drawn swords, whilst the prettiest of the slave girls, bare-headed and
with hair à la Brutus, sang and flapped their skirts over the ground,
performing a _pavane_ with a very modest and downcast demeanour, as if
treading upon a too hot floor. They reminded me of a deceased friend’s
clever doggrel—
You look so demure, ma’am, so quiet, so calm,
Ever chanting a hymn, ever singing a psalm;
Yet your thoughts are on heaven and virtue no more
Than the Man’s in the Moon’—
And as the dance waxed warm certain movements of the loins appeared, as
might be expected. A crowd of half-breeds and sooty sons of Africa stood
around to enjoy the ‘pi-pi’ of the flutes, the ‘bom-bom’ of the huge
drums, the mjimbo (singing) of the men, and the vijelejeh (lullalooing)
of the women. After half-an-hour’s endurance of this purgatory we were
led to our sleeping place, the upper rooms, or rather room, of the Wali
or Governor’s house—its owner was one Meriko, a burly black freedman of
the late Sayyid Said—and there the evening was spent by us over
considerations of ways and means.
-----
Footnote 21:
‘Imperfect sketch of a Map,’ by the Missionaries of the Church
Missionary Society in Eastern Africa. J. Rebmann, Rabia Mpia, April 4,
1850. This is the best yet published as regard the names and position
of the settlements. It places Gasi half-way between Wasin Island and
Mombasah, and it gives correctly the Jongolia-ni promontory. The same
cannot be said of Herr Augustus Petermann’s ‘Skizze nach J. Erhardt’s
Original und der Engl. Küsten Aufnahme (Captain Owen’s, I presume)
gezeichnet. Geographische Mittheilungen.’ Gotha, 1856. It omits Tanga
Bay and Cape Jongolia-ni, whilst it places the Gasi roadstead close to
Mombasah.
Footnote 22:
Sheet X. from S. lat. 6° 38′ to S. lat. 4° 23′ (Tom Shoal) is the
offending member in commission and omission. It places Chala (Kwala)
point 14 instead of 45 miles North of Tanga, and thus the latter,
which is parallel with the Northern third of Pemba Island, is thrown
25 miles north of it. Wasin Island, between Mombasah and Tanga, is
transferred five miles South of the latter. It also omits the ruins of
Mtangata. North of this, the ‘Island and Ports of Mombaza’ are
remarkably correct, but further North again the Coast, owing to the
sickness of the surveyors, was perfunctorily laid down: they seem not
to have landed at Makdishu, nor to have sought the debouchure of the
Juba river. The late Lieut. Carless, I.N., did not extend his
admirable labours beyond Ra’as Hafun. Southward, also, many important
places were left unnoticed by Capt. Owen. The Rufiji river is omitted,
and the Tanchi inlet (about S. lat. 9° 55′), a little above the mouth
of the Lindi river, does not appear upon the chart: it was till lately
a nest of slavers, who shared their secret with certain Zanzibar
merchants, till unpleasantly disturbed by H. B. Majesty’s ship
Grecian. In a return made to the House of Commons from the
Hydrographic Department (1848) it was stated that ‘many researches
might probably be made from Delagoa Bay to the Red Sea’; I therefore
proposed (April 19, 1856) a fresh survey of the Coast, but the project
found an obstacle in the Persian War.
Footnote 23:
Mvo is the Mvubu of the Kafir tongues: here the generally used term
for the Hippopotamus is Kiboko. I agree with the Rev. Mr Wakefield (p.
307), that the diminutive forms, Kiboko, plural Viboko (Viboko-ni, p.
316), are preferred to the root-name Boko, plural Maboko. It may,
however, be doubted if Boko, like Lima, be not the intensitive of
Mboko and Mlima, a hippopotamus and a mountain.
Footnote 24:
Mr Wakefield (J. R. G. Society for 1870, p. 304) gives 11 marches: of
these, however, 4 are 12 hour marches, 2 are of 8 hours, 1 is of 7
hours, and 4 are of 6 hours.
Footnote 25:
The following is a native list of the stages between Tanga and Chaga:
I leave it as written in 1857, and the reader will find the first part
almost identical with Mr Wakefield’s Route No. 1. I was surprised to
see the coincidence.
1. Tanga to Bwetti: 1 whole day (others say two), through the Wadigo
and Wasegeju jungle to a stream.
2. Dongo Khundu (red earth): half a day to a day, path straight easy
through the Wasegeju and Wadigo.
3. The Umba river: 1 day of jungle march.
4. The Mto Mchanga (Sand river): 1 day of wilderness march.
5. Mbaramo in the Usumbara country, many streams: 1 day’s march. The
hill belongs to King Kimwere’s sons, and some make it the 3rd station.
6. Gonja in the Pare country: 1 long day, the men generally dividing
it and sleeping in a jungle. Water is found flowing from a hill.
7. Kisiwa-ni in Pare: 1 day jungle march.
8. Sáme, at end of Pare: 1 day of jungle.
9. The Upo-ni river in the Wakwafi country, where robbers are feared:
men sleeping in the jungle 2 days.
10. The Rufu, or Upper Panga-ni river, whose banks are here woody, and
whose crocodile-haunted waters must be crossed in boats: 2 days. Here
is the Mhiná-ni station.
The Chaga road does not cross the stream, but runs northward with the
following stages, which are not mentioned by Mr Wakefield.
1. Mhina-ni to Arusha, a populous agricultural country: 1 day.
2. Kiboko-ni on left bank of Panga-ni river: 1 day of desert march.
3. Kahe Water of the Wakahe people: 1 long day, generally made 2, the
people sleeping in the jungle.
4. Chaga: 1 to 2 days under similar circumstances; water, however, is
found at night.
The caravans are of course armed and ready to fight: they march from
sunrise to 11 A.M., and from mid afternoon to sunset—sometimes a
forced march compels them to walk all day. The porters carry about 1½
Farsaleh. These details serve to prove that there are many points by
which the European traveller can more or less safely enter the
interior.
Footnote 26:
I will not stand godfather to this name, not being aware that in
Kikwafi there is any word ‘aro’ signifying great or greatness. The
abstract term, however, is general in South African languages. Mr
Rebmann says it may mean the ‘Mountain of Caravans’ (Jaro), that is to
say, a landmark for caravans—but this is going far afield.
Footnote 27:
Capt. Grant (a Walk across Africa, chap. viii.) has given ‘Jumah’s
Stories about Kilimanjaro.’ We could not meet with specimens of the
onyxes, carnelians, and crystals washed by rain-torrents down the
gorges and gullies of Kilima-njaro, and of which a few have found
their way to the coast—hence probably the ‘carnelian currency’ (p. 29)
of Mr Cooley’s ‘Kirimanjara.’ Of course such a circulation could never
have sufficed for one-thousandth part of the interior trade, nor could
the frozen heights of Kilima-njaro ever have ‘been the highest ridge
crossed by the road to Monomoezi.’
Footnote 28:
Mdogo in Kisawahili means a short man.
Footnote 29:
The Moslems of the islands and the coast call all the pagans Washenzi,
and the word is opposed to Mháji—a Moslem generally—and to Wazumba,
the Wasawihili of the northern region. On the continent it is, I have
said, applied to a servile or helot caste, originally from the S. West
of the Panga-ni river, and afterwards settled in Bondei.
Footnote 30:
For the Persian ruins on this coast the reader will consult Herr
Richard Branner’s Forschungen in Ost Afrika, Mittheilungen, 1868.
CHAPTER VI.
FROM PANGA-NI TOWN TO TONGWE OUTPOST. THE
BALOCH GUARD.
Ma tutta insieme poi tra verdi sponde
In profondo canal l’acqua s’aduna,
E sotto l’ombra di perpetua fronde
Mormorando sen va gelida e bruna;
Ma transparente si, che non asconde
Del imo letto sua vaghezza alcuna. TASSO.
In the heroic ages of Bruce and Mungo Park, Denham and Clapperton,
Hornemann and Caillié, African travel had a prestige which, after living
through a generation, came, as is the fate of all things sublunary, to a
natural end. The public glutted with adventure and invention, which the
‘damnable license of printing’ ushered into the world, soon suffered
from the humours of a severe surfeit: it learned to nauseate the
monotonous tale of rapine, treachery, and murder; of ugly and unsavoury
savagery—the mala gens, as was said anent certain South countrymen, of a
bona terra—of bleared misery by day and animated impurity by night, and
of hunting adventures and hair-breadth escapes, which often made the
reader regret the inevitable absence of a catastrophe. It felt the
dearth of tradition and monuments of the olden time, the lack of
romance, variety, and history, whilst the presence of a ‘future,’ almost
too remote for human interest, was rather an aggravation than a
palliation of the evil. A temporary revival of interest was, it is true,
recited by the Egyptian hippopotamus and Gordon Cumming’s trophies:
Livingstone’s first journey and Paul du Chaillu’s gorilla also caused a
transient burst of enthusiasm. But this soon had its day, and the night
that followed was darker than before. In fact it still glooms.
Yet African travel still continues to fulfil all the conditions of
attractiveness as laid down by that great city authority, Leigh Hunt.
The theme has remoteness and obscurity of place, difference of custom,
marvellousness of hearsay; events passing strange yet credible;
sometimes barbaric splendour, generally luxuriance of nature, savage
life, personal danger and suffering always borne (in books) with
patience, dignity, and even enthusiasm. Moreover, no hours are more
fraught with smiling recollections to the author: nothing can he more
charming than the contrast between his vantage ground of present ease,
as he takes up his pen at home, and that past perspection of want,
hardships, and accidents upon which he gazes through the softening,
beautifying atmosphere of time. And the animus of the writer must to
some extent inspire his readers.
We arose early in the morning after making Panga-ni, and repaired to the
terrace for the better enjoyment of the view. The river-vista, with
cocoa avenues to the north, with yellow cliffs on the southern side,
some 40 feet high, abrupt as those of the Indus, and green clad above;
with a distance of plum-blue hill, upon which eye and mind both love to
rest; the mobile swelling water bounded by strips of emerald verdure and
golden sand, and the still and azure sea dotted with ‘diabolitos,’
little black rocks, not improperly called ‘devilings,’ wanted nothing
but the finish and polish of art to bring out the infinite variety, the
rude magnificence of nature. A few grey ruins upon the hills would
enable it to compare with the most admired prospects of the Rhine,
without looking as if it had been made picturesque by contrast, to
attract tourists, and with half-a-dozen white Kiosks and Serais,
minarets and latticed summer villas, it would almost rival that gem of
creation, the Bosphorus.
Panga-ni[31] ‘in the hole,’ or ‘between the highlands,’ as was said of
the River Lee, and its smaller neighbour, Kumba, hug the left or
northern bank of its river: the site is a flat Maremma bounded by the
sea and by a hill range, ten or eleven miles distant. Opposite are
Mbweni and Mzimo Mpia, small villages built under tall bluffs of yellow
sandstone, precipitous and impenetrably covered with wild growth. The
stream which separates these rival pairs of settlements may be 200 yards
broad: the mouth has an ugly line of bar-breakers, awash at low tide;
the only fairway course is a narrow channel to the south, and the
entrance is intricate, with reef and shoal. This in Capt. Owen’s time
was some 12 feet deep: now it it is reduced to seven or eight: although
a report had been spread that the ‘Shah Allum’ had crossed it, nothing
but country craft can safely enter, as some of our enterprising
compatriots have discovered, to their cost. Panga-ni Bay is shown to the
mariner by its ‘verdurous wall’ of palms and by its dotting of small
dark rocks; by Maziwi Island, a green-capped gem in a bezel of golden
sand, bearing S. East, and southwards by the yellow cliffs of Mbweni.
Vessels lie snugly in the outer roads, but when making the inner harbour
even Hamid, most niggardly of Suris, expended a dollar upon a pilot. At
low water in the dry season the bed of this tidal stream is partly
exposed, and its produce during the flow is briny as the main: the rains
cause it to swell with the hill-freshets, and then it becomes almost
potable. The wells produce heavy and brackish drink, but who, ask the
people, will take the trouble to fetch sweeter? The climate is said to
be tolerably healthy; throughout the long and severe rainy monsoon,
however, the place is rich in dysenteries and in fatal bilious
remittents.
Panga-ni boasts some 19 or 20 stone houses of the usual box style: the
rest is a mass of cajan huts, each with its large and mat-encircled
patio or courtyard, whose outer lines form the streets, and wherein
almost all the business of life is transacted. The settlement is
surrounded by a thick thorny jungle, harbouring not a few leopards. One
of these felines lately scaled the high terrace of our house, and seized
a slave-girl: her master, the burly Wáli, who was sleeping by her side,
snatched up his sword, hurried into the house and bolted the door,
heedless of the miserable cry, ‘B’ana, help me!’ The wretch was carried
into the jungle, and incontinently devoured. As full of crocodiles is
the river: whilst we were at Panga-ni a boy disappeared. When asked by
strangers why they do not kill their crocodiles and burn their bush, the
people reply that the former bring good luck, and that the latter is a
fort to which they can fly when need drives them. Plantains, arecas, and
cocoas grow all about the town; around it are plantations of papaws,
betel, and Jamlis, whilst further lie extensive Shambas, or plantations,
of holcus, maize, sesamum, and other grains. The clove flourishes, and,
as elsewhere upon the Zanzibar coast, a little cotton is raised for
household purposes; it will be long, however, before East-African cotton
can influence the English market, and as yet it has proved only a snare
and a delusion. A notable and narrow-minded party-cry of these modern
days, as applied to Africa, are the three Cs—Cotton, Civilization, and
Christianity: they ‘pay,’ however, better than to beg in the name of
roads and schools, steamers and steam engines—the true means which will
eventually lead to the wished-for end.
Animals are here rare. Cows soon die after eating the grass, and even
the Banyans despair of keeping them alive. Sheep are scarcely to be
found, and goats, being almost wild, give very little milk, and that
only before yeaning. But fish is abundant; poultry thrives, as it does
all over Africa, though not so much on the coast as in the interior;
and, before the late feuds began, clarified butter, that ‘one source’ of
the outer East, was cheap and plentiful. Made in the interior by the
Wazegura, and other Washenzi, with rich milk, stored in clean vessels,
and sold when fresh, it reminded me of the J’aferabádi ‘Ghi,’ so
celebrated throughout Western India.
Panga-ni, with its three neighbours, may contain a total of 4000
inhabitants, Arabs and Wasawahili, slaves and heathenry: of these a
large proportion are feminines and concubines. Twenty Banyans manage the
lucrative ivory trade of the Chaga, Nguru, and Umasai countries, which
produce the whitest, largest, heaviest, softest, and, perhaps, finest
ivory known. The annual export is said to be 35,000 lbs., besides 1750
lbs. of black rhinoceros horn, and 160 lbs. of hippopotamus’ teeth; the
latter is an article which, since porcelain teeth were invented, has
lost in value.[32] The other exports are holcus, maize, ghi, and
Zanzibar rafters, cut near the river mouth, and up stream.
Trading parties travel to the Umasai, Chaga, and Nguru countries at all
seasons, even when the rainy monsoon makes the higher Panga-ni difficult
to cross. As many as 1000 Wasawahili and slavers, directed by a few
Arabs, set out, laden with iron and brass wires (Nos. 7 and 8), some 50
of the former to 3 of the latter; with small brass chains which,
fastened together, are used as kilts (Mkifu) by the Wamasai; with
American domestics, indigo-dyed calicoes (Kiniki), and checks, with
beads of sorts, especially the white and the blue. Each man carries a
pack worth from $15 to $25: consequently the total venture is of £4000.
The caravan reaches its ground in about 20 days, and returns after a
period varying between two and six months. The purchase of slaves is not
on a large scale; nor is the coast journey distinguished by inhumanity.
Here the free traveller dies as frequently as the servile. The merchants
complain loudly of the ‘Pagazi,’ or porters: these fellows are prepaid
$10 for the trip, and the proprietor congratulates himself if, after
payment, only 15 per cent. abscond. The Hindu’s profit must here be
enormous, I saw one man to whom $26,000 were owed by the people. What
part do interest and compound interest play in making up such a sum,
when even Europeans will demand 40 per cent. for moneys lent on safe
mortgage or bottomry? We heard of another case, in which a bond worth
$60, and sold for $30, became, by post-obits and other processes,
$10,000: the affair was referred to the Zanzibar Government, which
allowed $1000 by way of indemnification. Some of their gains are
swallowed up by the rapacity of these savages, whose very princes are
inveterate beggars. The pliant Banyan always avoids refusals, like the
diplomatic Spaniard, ‘saying no, although he may do no’; consequently he
will find at his door every evening some 70 or 80 suitors, who besiege
him with cries for grain, butter, or a little oil.
After the dancing ceremony arose a variety of difficulties, resulting
from the African traveller’s twin banes—the dollar and the blood-feud.
Panga-ni, Mbweni, and the other settlements on this coast, nominally
belong, by right of conquest and succession, to the Sayyid of Zanzibar,
who invests and confirms the Governors and Diwans. At Panga-ni, however,
these officials are par congé d’élire, selected by Kimwere, Sultan of
Usumbara, whose ancestors received tribute from the Mountains of Paré
eastward to the Indian Ocean, and who still claims the northern
villages. On the other hand, Mbweni and the southern settlements are in
the territory of the Wazegura, a violent and turbulent tribe, inveterate
slave-dealers, and cunning at kidnapping, whilst the Christian merchants
of Zanzibar have been thoughtlessly allowed by the Prince Regnant to
supply them freely with muskets and ammunition. Of course the two
tribes, Wasumbara and Wazegura, are inveterate, deadly foes: moreover,
about a year ago, a violent intestine feud broke out amongst the latter,
who at the time of our visit were burning and plundering, selling and
murdering one another in all directions. About two months had passed
since they had cut the throat of one Moyya, a slave belonging to the
Sayyid of Zanzibar; and, as usual, the murder was left unpunished. The
citizens of Panga-ni, therefore, hearing that we were bearers of a
letter from the Sayyid of Zanzibar to Sultan Kimwere, marked out for us
the circuitous route viâ Mtangata, where no plundering Wazegura from the
south of the Panga-ni river could try their valour. We, on the other
hand, wishing to inspect that same stream, determined upon proceeding by
the directest line, along its left or northern bank. The timid townsmen
had also circulated a report that we were bound for Chaga and
Kilima-njaro; the Wamasai were ‘out,’ the rains were setting in, and
they saw us without armed escort. They resolved, therefore, not to
accompany us; but nevertheless did each man expect his gift of dollars
and his bribe of inducement.
The expense of the journey was an even more serious consideration. In
these lands the dollar is almighty. If it be lacking, you must travel
alone, unaccompanied, at least, by any but blacks; without other
instrument but a pocket-compass, and with few weapons. You must conform
to every nauseous custom; you will be subjected at the most interesting
points to perpetual stoppages; the contents of your note-book will be
well-nigh worthless; and unless you be one in a million, you may make up
your mind that want and hardship will conduct you to illness and perhaps
to death. This is one extreme, and from it to the other there is no
‘golden mean.’ With abundance of money—say £5000 per annum—an exploring
party in these parts could trace its own line, paying off all opposers.
It could study, if it pleases, even infusoria; handle sextants in the
presence of negroes, who would willingly cut every throat for one inch
of brass; and, by travelling comfortably, it would secure the best
chance of return. Either from Mombasah or from Panga-ni we might have
marched through the plundering Wamasai to Chaga and Kilima-njaro; but an
escort of at least 100 matchlocks would have been necessary. Pay,
porterage, and provisions for such a party would have amounted to at
least £100 per week; and a month and a half would have absorbed the
whole of our scanty supplies. Thus it was, gentle reader, that we were
compelled to rest contented with a walking trip to Fuga.
Presently the plot thickened. Muigni Khatib, eldest son and heir of
Sultan Kimwere, a black of unprepossessing physiognomy, with a
‘villainous trick of the eye and a foolish hanging of the nether lip;’ a
prognathous jaw garnished with cat-like mustachios and cobweb beard;
with a sour frown and abundant surliness by way of dignity, dressed like
an Arab, and raised above his fellows by El Islam, sent a presumptuous
message requesting us to place in his hands what we intended for his
father. This chief was then journeying to Zanzibar with fear and
trembling: he had tried to establish at his village, Kirore, a Romulian
asylum for fugitive slaves, and having partially succeeded in enticing
away many ruffians, he dreaded the consequences. The Baloch Jemadar
strongly urged us privily to cause his detention in the Island, a
precaution somewhat too Oriental for our taste; he refused, however, the
Muigni’s request in his own tone. Following princely example, the
dancing Diwans claimed a fee for permitting us to reside. As they worded
it El Ada—the habit—basing it upon an ancient present from
Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, and as they were in palpable, manifest process
of establishing a local custom, which in Africa becomes law to the
latest posterity, we flatly objected, showed our letters, and in the
angriest of moods, threatened reference to Head Quarters. Briefly, all
began to angle for bakhshish, but I cannot remember any one catching it:
they revenged themselves by promising to show us a minaret, and by
showing only an old tomb—poor reward for 16 miles in the burning sun.
Weary of negro importunities, we resolved to visit Chogwe, the nearest
Baloch outpost upon the Rufu[33] (Lufu), or Upper Pangani river, and
thence, aided by the Jemadar, who had preceded us, to push for Fuga, the
capital village of Usumbara. We made our preparations silently, paid off
the Riámi, rejected the Diwans who wished to accompany us as spies, left
Said bin Salim and Caetano, the Goanese lad, in the house of the Wali
Meriko, who presently accompanied his Muigni to Zanzibar; and under
pretext of a short shooting excursion, we hired a long canoe and four
men, loaded it with the luggage required for a fortnight, and started
with the tide, at 11 A.M. on January 6, 1858.
[Illustration: FUGA, CAPITAL OF USUMBARA.]
First we grounded, then a puff of wind drove us on at railway speed, and
then we scraped again: it was impossible to avoid being taken aback, so
abrupt are the windings of the bed. At last we were successful in
turning the first dangerous angle: here, where sea-breeze and tide meet
the buffing stream, forming a ‘Lahr,’ as the Baloch call it, navigation
becomes perilous to small craft. There is, as usual at and near the
mouths of African rivers where the water acts as wind conductor, a
little gale blowing upstream, a valuable aid to craft bound inland, but
not without its risks; here many a boat has filled and sunk beneath the
ridge of short chopping waves. After five miles, during which the
turbulent river, streaked with lines of froth, gradually narrowed, we
found it barely brackish, and somewhat farther it was sweet as the
celebrated creek-water of Guiana.
Often since that day, while writing amid the soughing blasts, the
dashing rain, and the darkened air of a wet season in West Africa and
the Brazil, have I remembered with yearning the bright and beautiful
spectacle of those Zangian streams, whose charm, like the repose of the
dead, seems heightened by proximity to decay. We had soon exchanged the
amene and graceful, though somewhat tame scenery of the sandstone
formation on the seaboard, for a view most novel and characteristic.
Behemoth now reared his head from the foaming waters, gazed upon us,
snorted at us, and sank back surlily and suspiciously into the depths of
his home. Crocodiles, terrified by the splash of paddles, waddled down,
as dowagers might, with their horrid claws dinting the slimy bank, and
lay upon the water like yellow-brown tree-trunks, measuring us with
small malignant green eyes, deep set under warty brows. Monkeys rustled
the tall trees, here peeping with curiosity almost human, there darting
away in fear amidst the wondrous frondage and foliage; now gambolling
and frolicking up and down the corkscrew-like bush-ropes, nature’s
cables, shrouds, and stays; then disappearing amidst the gloom of virgin
forest. Below, their younger brethren, the jungle men and women—
‘So withered and so wild in their attire,
That look not like th’ inhabitants o’ th’ earth,
And yet are on’t’—
planted their shoulder-cloths, their rude crates, and their coarse weirs
upon the muddy inlets where fish abounded. The sky was sparkling blue,
the water was bluer, and over both spread the thinnest blue haze,
tempering raw tones of colour to absolute beauty. On both sides of the
shrinking stream a dense curtain of many-tinted vegetation,
‘Yellow and black, and pale and hectic red,’
shadowed swirling pools, where the current swept over the growth of
intertwisted fibres. The stunted Mkindu, brab or wild date (Phœnix
sylvestris), much used for mats, contrasted with the Nakhl el Shaytan,
or Devil’s Date (Raphia Vinifera), which, eccentric in form and
frondage, curved arms sometimes 30 and even 35 feet long, over the
dancing wave: this dwarf-giant of the palms has no trunk to speak of,
but each midrib is thick as a man’s thigh, and the vegetable kingdom
cannot show such length of foliage. Not a few of the trees were so
distinguished by oppositions of tall and sturdy trunk supporting frail
and tender belongings, that they seemed to bear leaves and blossoms not
their own. Upon the watery margin large lilies of snowy robe, some
sealed by day, others wide expanded and basking in light and air,
gleamed beautifully against the black-green growth and the clear
bitumen-brown of the bank-water. In scattered spots were inhuman traces
of human presence; tall arecas and cocoas waving over a now impenetrable
jungle; whilst plantains, sugar-canes, limes, and bitter oranges, choked
with wild verdure, still lingered about the broken homestead and around
the falling walls, blackened by the murderer’s fire. And above all
reigned the peculiar African and tropical stillness of noontide, deep
and imposing, broken only by the curlew’s scream or by the tepid breeze
rustling the tree-tops in fitful gusts, whispering among the matted
foliage, and swooning away upon the warm bosom of the wave.
Amid such scenes we paddled and poled till the setting sun spread its
cloak of purple over a low white cliff, upon whose feet the ripple broke
and on whose head lingered venerable trees that stood out from the
underwood of the lower banks. Here lies the Pir of Wasin, a saint
described by our Baloch guide as a ‘very angry, holy man’ (bará jabrá
Pir). A Sherif of pure strain, he gallantly headed, in times long gone
by, his Moslem followers flying from Panga-ni, when it was attacked by a
ravenous herd of heathenry. The infidels seem to have had the advantage
in running: they collared the Faithful at these cliffs, and would have
made mince-meat of them, when Mother Hertha, at the prayer of the Pir,
opened wide and received them in her bowels. This Shaykh will not allow
the trees to be felled or the floods to rise above the level of his
grave: moreover, if the devotee, after cooking food at the tomb in
honour of its tenant, venture to lick his fingers—the usual succedaneum
for napkins in East Africa, and throughout the Moslem world—he is at
once delivered over to the haunting Jinns. The Baloch never pass the
place without casting a handful of leaves, a bullet, or a few grains of
powder by way of humble heave-offering into the stream. Our guide told
us, in accents of awe, how a Suri Arab, doubtless tainted with Wahhabi
heresy, had expressed an opinion that this Pir had been a mere mortal,
but little better, if at all better, than his own sinful self; how the
shallow scoffer’s ship was wrecked within the year, and how he passed
through water into the fire of Jehannum. _Probatum est_—defend us,
Allah! from the sins of Reason.
We passed three small Arab timber-craft which were laying in a cargo of
red and white mangrove trunks, and in many places floated small rafts of
palm-fronds ready to be guided down-stream. At sunset the tide, running
like a mill-race, compelled our crew to pole up a little inlet near
Pombui or Kipombui, a village on the left bank, well stockaded with
split areca trunks. The people who are subject to Zanzibar, and are
claimed by Kimwere, flocked out to welcome their strangers, laid down a
bridge of cocoa-ribs, brought chairs, and offered a dish of small green
mangoes, here a great luxury. We sat under a tree till midnight,
unsatiated with the charm of the darker hours. The moon rained molten
silver over the black foliage and the huge fronds of the Devil’s Dates
(Raphias); the stars gleamed like golden lamps hung unusually high in
the limpid air, and Venus, the beautiful, glittered diamond-like upon
the pure front of the firmament. The fireflies rose in a scatter of
sparks—‘a shower of fire’ Southey has it—now all shone out
simultaneously through the dark; then the glow melted away, as if by
concerted impulse, amidst the glooms of the ground. At our feet rolled
the black waters of the creek; in the jungle wild beasts roared
fitfully; Leviathan and Behemoth crashed through the bush, and the night
breeze mingled softly sighing sounds with the murmurs and the gurgling
of the stream.
About midnight, when the tide flowed strong, we resumed our way. The
river then became a sable streak down the avenue of lofty trees except
where a bend suddenly opened its mirrory surface to the reflection of
the moon, and stretched it before us like a silver ribbon. The deep roar
of the hippopotamus, the snorting, and the occasional blowing sounded
close to our stern, and the crew begged me to fire for the purpose of
frightening a certain pernicious ‘rogue’ whose villanies had gained for
him the royal title of ‘Sultan Mamba,’ or King Crocodile: now we heard
the splashing of the huge beasts, as they scrambled over the shoals;
then they struggled with hoarse grunts up the miry slippery banks which
led to fields and plantations; then, again, all was quiet as the grave.
After a protracted silence, deep and drear, the near voice of a man
startled us as though it had been some ghostly sound. At 2 P.M.,
reaching a cleared tract on the river-side, the ‘ghaut’ or landing-place
of Chogwe, we made fast the canoe, looked to our weapons, and covering
our faces against the clammy dew and the blinding, paralyzing moonlight,
we lay down to snatch an hour’s sleep. The total distance rowed was
about 13½ miles.
We began the next morning with an inspection of Chogwe, the bazar, to
which we were escorted with sundry honorary discharges of matchlocks, by
the Jemadar, and 20 Bashi Buzuks. It was first occupied some few years
ago, when the Church Missionary Intelligencer had published (Jan. 1850)
a ‘fact,’ namely, that the ‘Imam of Zanzibar had not one inch of ground
between the Island of Wasin and the Panga-ni river.’ The fact proved to
be a fiction, and the late Sayyid at once garrisoned Chogwe and Tongwe
with 25 Baloch. About this time, also, King Kimwere, with cheap
generosity, had offered to Dr Krapf by way of mission-station a choice
of Tongwe, of Pambire, or of Meringa, a lofty peak in the continuous
range to the N. West. A certain French admiral declared that he would
occupy these places where the ‘Imam’ had little authority; ‘if they do,
I’ll burn the country faster than they can travel,’ was the Arab’s
reply. M. Guillain next strove hard to prove that none of the Bu Saidi
ever included even Makdishu in their dominions.
Chogwe is situated upon an eminence gently rising from the grassy plain
of black alluvial soil which is flooded during the rains. It is seven
direct miles distant from Panga-ni town, bearing west 288°; the walk
over a rugged path occupies four or five hours, yet few men but slaves
availed themselves of the short cut. The position is badly chosen, water
is distant, the rugged soil produces nothing but stunted manioc, and
when the inundation subsides in the lowlands it is exposed to miasma,
whilst the frequent creeks must he crossed upon tree trunks acting
bridges. The garrison at such times suffers severely from sickness,
especially from fever and diarrhœa, and the men, dull as a whaler’s crew
lorn of luck, abhor the wretched desolate out-station. Commanding,
however, the main road to Usumbara, Chogwe affords opportunity for an
occasional something in the looting line—which is a consideration.
[Illustration: HILL-FORT AT TONGWE.]
A stiff snake-fence surrounds the hill-crest and defends the cajan
penthouses of the Bashi Buzuks: the only works are two platforms for
matchlock-men planted on high poles like the Maychan of Hindostan and
the Mintar of Syria. The Washenzi savages sometimes creep up at night,
shoot a few arrows into the huts, set fire to the matting with the
spicula ignita, and after other such amenities, hurriedly levant. The
Wazegura, though fighting with one another, did not when we visited the
place molest the Baloch. To the North and West of Chogwe rises a
continuous range, the outliers of Usumbara: about 15 miles S. Westward
(233° 15′) in the plains of the Wazegura beyond the river is a
succession of detached hills of which the most remarkable, Tongwe
Mwanapiro, in our charts called Genda-genda, may be seen from Zanzibar.
Here rules one Mwere, a chief hostile to the mercenaries, who boast that
if they numbered 50 they could overrun and plunder the whole land: the
Asiatics, not caring to soil their hands with negro blood, make their
slaves fight his men even as the ingenuous youth, of Eton offered their
scouts to meet in the cricket-field the ambitious youth of Rugby. It is
certain that a few stout fellows, with a competent leader and a little
money for good arms and ammunition, might easily establish an absolute
monarchy over the independent blacks, and filibuster for Zanzibar, as
the Khedive is now doing for Egypt.
These Baloch mercenaries merit some notice. They were first entitled
Askar in the days of Sultan bin Ahmad, father of the late Sayyid Said,
who preferred them to his unruly self-willed Omani Arabs and his futile
half-castes and blacks: he acted upon the same principle which made the
Ayyubite sultans of Syria and Egypt arm first Kurdish and afterwards
Circassian ‘Mamluks.’ From 1000 to 1500 men were scattered over the
country in charge of the forts: the ruler knew that they were hated by
all Arabs, and to create dissensions even amongst his own children was
ever the astute Sayyid’s policy. The Wáli and the Jemadar, like the
Turkish Wáli and Mushir, are rarely on speaking terms, and if not open
enemies, they are at least rivals. The people nickname these foreigners
Kurára Kurára—to sleep! to sleep! ‘rárá’ being the Asiatic
mispronunciation of lálá. Boasting themselves to be Baloch, they are
mostly from the regions about Kech and Bampur: they are mixed up with a
rabble rout of Arabs and Afghans, of Sidis[34] and Hindostan men. The
corps spoke some half-a-dozen different languages, and many of the
members have left their country for their country’s good—a body of
convicts, however, generally fights well. The Mekrani especially are
staunch men behind walls, and if paid, drilled, and officered, they
would make as ‘varmint’ light-bobs as any Arnauts. They have a knightly
fondness for arms: a ‘young barrel and an old blade’ are their delight:
like schoolboys, they think nothing so fine as the report of a gun;
consequently ammunition is kept by the C. O., and is never served out
except before a fight. All use the matchlock: while good shots are rare,
many are tolerably skilful with sword and shield. Their nominal pay is
from $2 to $3 per mensem, a pittance of some 20 pice (120 pice=$1) per
diem: this must find them in clothes and rations as well as in arms;
often there is not a sandal amongst them, and they are as ragged a crew
as ever left the barren wolds of Central Asia in quest of African
fortune. They live in tattered hovels, which they build for themselves,
upon one meal a day, which is shared by their slave concubines. To the
natural greed of mountain-races, the poor devils who come in horse and
salt-boats, and act barbers and sailors, porters, labourers, and
date-gleaners, add the insatiable desires of beggars. The Banyans have a
proverb that a Baloch, a Brahman, and a buck-goat eat the trees to which
they are tied. Sudden and sharp in quarrel, they draw their daggers upon
the minutest provocation; they have no mitigation nor remorse of voice,
and they pray in the proportion of one to a dozen. Africa is to them
what the Caucasus is to the Russians, Kabylie to the French, and Sind to
the English soldier. All look forward to ‘Hindostan—bagh o bostan,’
India the flower-garden; but the Arabs have a canny proverb inporting
that the fool who falleth into the fire rarely falleth out of it.
Fraudare stipendio, saith ancient Justin, was the proverb of the Great
King’s satraps: the custom has been religiously preserved by the modern
East. Each station is commanded by a Jemadar, who receives $4 to $5 per
month, and ample license to pay himself by peculation. This class is at
once under-salaried, and over-trusted. The Jemadar advances money upon
usury to his men; he keeps them six months in arrears, and not a few of
them never see the colour of Government coin from the year’s beginning
to the end. He exacts perquisites from all who fear his hate and who
need his aid; and he falsifies the muster-rolls impudently and with
impunity, giving 25 names to perhaps four men. Thus, like the Turkish
Colonel of Nizam, the Jemadar lives in great state. He has a wife or
two, and perhaps a dozen slaves; he sports a fine coat of scarlet
broadcloth, a silver-hilted sword and dagger, and a turban of rich silk.
He keeps flocks of sheep and goats, and he trades with the interior for
ivory and captives. Such has been, such is, and such ever will be till
Europe steps in, that false economy which throughout the ‘East,’ from
Stambul to Japan, grasps the penny and flings away the pound. It is a
state inseparable from the conditions of society and of government,
where public servants are not paid, they must, of course, pay
themselves; and they often prefer the latter mode, as they pay
themselves far better than they would otherwise be paid. About a century
ago we did the same thing in India, where men amassed fortunes, and
until the late reforms, such was notoriously the case throughout the
Russian empire. Perhaps in the present day the best place to study the
system of all peculation and no pay is Damascus.
Having confided our project to the Jemadar of Chogwe, he promised his
good-will—for a consideration. He undertook to start us the next day,
and, curious to relate, for as usual he was a Cathaian of the first
water, he kept his word. The small garrison, however, could afford but
four matchlock-men as a guard, and the same number of slave-boys acting
porters. The C. O., therefore, engaged for us, nominally paying $10, and
doubtless retaining one half, a couple of guides, who proved to be a
single guide and his chattel.
After a night spent in the Maychan, where wind, dust, and ants conspired
to make us miserable, we arose to prepare for marching. We reduced our
kit to the strictest necessaire, surveying instruments, weapons,
waterproof blankets, tea, sugar, and tobacco for ten days, a bag of
dates, and three bags of rice. About noon, issuing from our shed, we
placed the baggage in the sun; thus mutely appealing to the
‘Sharm’—shame or sense of honour—possessed by our Baloch employés. A
start was not effected till 5 P.M.; every slave grumbling loudly at his
load, snatching up the lightest of packs, fighting to avoid the heavier
burdens, and rushing forward regardless of what was left behind. This
nuisance endured till abated by an outward application easily divined. I
had only to hope that after a march or two the scramble would subside
into something like order. At length, escorted in token of honour by the
consumptive Jemadar and most of his company, we set out, in a straggling
Indian file, towards Tongwe.
The track wound over stony ridges, and after an hour it plunged into a
dense, thorny thicket, which during the rains must be impassable. The
evening belling of the deer and the near ‘clock clock’ of the partridge
struck our ears pleasantly. In open places lay the dry lesses of
elephants, and footprints retained by the last year’s mud: these
animals, as in the Harar country, descend to the plains during the rainy
monsoon, and when the heats set in retire to the cool hills—a regular
annual migration. The Baloch shoot, the wild people kill them with
poisoned arrows. More than once during our march we found the gravelike
trap-pits in India called Ogi. They are wedge-shaped holes 10 feet deep,
artfully placed in the little rises frequented by the beasts, and the
size must exactly fit the victim, which easily extricates itself from
one too large or too small: if fairly jammed, however, it cannot escape.
We did not sight a single specimen; but judging from the
footprints—three to three and a half circumferences showing the
shoulder-height—the elephant here is not of tall stature. From the
further interior come tusks commonly weighing 100 lbs. each; those of
175 lbs. are not rare, and I have heard of a par nobile sent from
Delagoa Bay to the King of Portugal, whose joint weight was 560 lbs. We
also saw many traces of lion, antelope, and wild cattle, here called
buffalo. It was a severe disappointment to us that we could not revisit,
as we had promised ourselves, this country during the rains; but
Lieut.-Col. Hamerton strongly dissuaded us from again risking jungle
fever; and we had other work to do in Inner Africa. Sporting, indeed,
must occupy the whole man, and even to shoot for specimens is often to
waste time in two ways. The ‘serious traveller’ must indulge himself by
taking at times a week or a fortnight’s leave from geographical work,
and even then he will frequently find circumstances interfere with his
plans. Throughout our march in these regions game was rarely seen; none
lives where the land is peopled; in the parts near the stations it is
persecuted by the Baloch, and the wild Jägers will kill and eat even
rats. We heard, however, many tales of Mabogo, or wild cattle, and of
lions; of leopards in plenty; of a hog, probably the masked boar;
amongst many antelopes, of one resembling the Nilghai (A. Picta), and of
an elk said to be like the Sambar of Hindostan.
Another hour’s marching, and a total of six miles, as shown by the
pedometer, brought us to the Makam Sayyid Sulayman, a partially cleared
ring in the thorny jungle. It was bounded on one side by a rocky and
tree-fringed nullah, where water stagnates in pools during the dry
season; and here ensued a comical scene. The whole party went to drink,
when suddenly all began to dance and shout like madmen, pulling off
their clothes and frantically snatching at their lower limbs. It was our
first experience of that formican fiend, the bull-dog ant (Siyáfú or
Ch’hungu Fundo),[35] black, and a good half inch long, which invariably
reserves its attentions for the tenderest portions of the person
attacked. The bite of this wretch, properly called ‘atrox,’ burns like
the point of a red-hot needle, and whilst engaged in its cannibal meal,
literally beginning to devour man alive, even when its doubled-up body
has been torn from the head, the pincers will remain embedded in flesh.
Moreover, there are the usual white ants (Ch’hungu Mchwa, Termes
fatalis), death upon your property; the ginger-coloured Ch’hungu ya
moto, whose name ‘fire-ant’ describes its bite, and the hopper ant, who,
like the leopard, takes a flying leap from the nearest branch, and
cleverly alighting upon the victim, commences operations. And where the
ant is in legions, one of the most troublesome is the smelling ant
(Ch’hungu Uvundo), which suggests that carrion is concealed behind every
bush. Verily, in Africa, as was said of the Brazil, the ant is king, and
he rules like a tyrant.
We spent the night in a small Babel of Baloch. It was a savage opera
scene. One recited his Koran, another prayed, a third told funny
stories, whilst a fourth trolled out in minor key lays of love and war,
made familiar to my ear upon the rugged Sindian hills. This was varied
by slapping away the lank mosquitoes that flocked to the gleaming
camp-fires, by rising occasionally to rid ourselves of the ants, and by
challenging the small parties of savages who, armed with bows and
arrows, passed amongst us, carrying grain to Panga-ni. The Baloch kept a
truly oriental watch. They sang and shouted, and they carefully fed the
camp fire during early night, when there is no danger; but all slept
like the dead through the ‘small hours,’ the time always chosen by the
African freebooters, and indeed by almost all savages, to make their
unheroic onslaughts. Similarly, throughout our expedition to the Lake
Regions, the ‘soldiers’ never dreamed of any precaution whilst in
dangerous regions. As we approached the coast, however, sentinels were
carefully set, that all might be well which ends well.
At daybreak on February 9, accompanied by a much reduced detachment, we
resumed our march: the poitrinaire Jemadar, who was crippled by the
moonlight and by the cold dew, resolved, when thawed, to return with the
rest of his company Chogwe-wards. An hour’s hard walking brought us to
the foot of rugged Tongwe, the Great Hill. Ascending the flank of the N.
Eastern spur, we found ourselves at 8 A.M., after five or six bad miles,
upon the chine of a little ridge, with summer facing the sea, and a
wintry wind blowing from the deep and forested valley to landward.
Thence, pursuing the rugged incline, after another half-hour we entered
the ‘fort,’ a crenellated, flat-roofed, and whitewashed room, 14 feet
square, supported inside by smooth blackened rafters. It was tenanted by
two Baloch, who figure on the muster-rolls as 20 men. They complain of
loneliness and of the horrors: though several goats have been
sacrificed, an obstinate demon still haunts the hill, and at times the
weeping and wailing of distressed spirits makes their thin blood run
chill from their hearts.
Tongwe is the first offset of the massive mountain-terrace which forms
the Region of Usumbara: here, in fact, begins the Highland block of
Zangian and equatorial Africa, which culminates in Kilima-njaro and
Doenyo Ebor, or Mount Kenia. It rises abruptly from the plain, and
projects long spurs into the river valley, where the Panga-ni flows
noisily through a rocky trough, and whence we could distinctly hear the
roar of the celebrated waterfall. Situated N. West of (324°), and nine
miles as the crow flies from, Chogwe, the hill summit, about 2000 feet
above sea-level, is clothed with jungle, through which we had to cut a
way with our swords, when seeking compass bearings of the Nguru hills.
The thickness of the vegetation, which contains stunted cocoas, oranges
grown wild and bitter, the Castor shrub, the Solanum, and the
bird-pepper plant, with small berry, but very hot i’ the mouth, renders
the eminence inaccessible from any but the Eastern and Northern flanks.
The deserted grounds showed signs of former culture, and our negro guide
sighed as he told us that his kinsmen had been driven by the Wazegura
from their ancient seats to the far inner wilds. Around the Fort were
slender plantations of maize and manioc springing amongst the ‘black
jacks,’ which here, as in the Brazil, are never removed. The surface is
a reddish, argillaceous, and vegetable soil, overlying grey and ruddy
granite and schists. These rocks bear the ‘gold and silver complexion’
which was fatal to Colin Clout, the chivalrous ‘Shepherd of the Ocean,’
and the glistening spangles of mica still feed the fancy of the pauper
Baloch mercenary. Below Tongwe hill, a deep hole in the northern face
supplies the sweetest ‘rock-water,’ and upon the plain a boulder of
well-weathered granite, striped with snowy quartz, contains two crevices
ever filled by the purest springs. The climate appeared delicious,
temperate in the full blaze of an African and tropical summer, and
worthy of verse—
‘Fair is that land as evening skies,
And cool though in the depths it lies
Of burning Africa.’
The temperature would correspond with a similar altitude upon the
Fernando Po and the Camarones peaks. But whilst the hill was green the
lower lands were baked like bread crust—the ‘fertile and flourishing
regions about Tongwe’ belong to the category of things gone by.
We had much to do before leaving Tongwe. The Jemadar had, it is true,
ordered for us an escort, but in these latitudes obedience to orders is
an optional matter. Moreover, the Baloch, enervated by climate and by
long habits of utter indolence, looked forward with scant pleasure to
the discomforts of a mountain march. Shoeless, bedless, and almost
ragless, they could hardly be induced, even by the offer of ‘stone
dollars,’ to quit for a week their hovel homes, their black Venuses, and
their whitey-brown piccaninnies. They felt truly happy with us at
Tongwe, doing nothing beyond devouring, twice a day, vast quantities of
our dates and rice, an unknown luxury; and they were at infinite pains
to defer the evil hour of departure. One fellow declared it was
absolutely impossible for him to travel without salt, and proposed
sending back a slave to Chogwe: the move would have involved the loss of
at least three days, so we thought it best at once to begin with firmly
saying no.
By hard talking I managed at last to secure a small party, which demands
a few words of introduction to the reader—it is the typical affair in
this part of Africa, and the sketch may be useful to future travellers.
We have four slave boys, idle, worthless dogs, who never work save under
the rod, who think of nothing beyond their stomachs, and who are
addicted to running away upon all occasions. Petty pilferers to the
backbone, they steal, magpie-like, by instinct, and from their impudent
fingers nothing is safe. On the march they lag behind to see what can be
‘prigged,’ and not being professional porters, they are as restive as
camels when receiving their loads. ‘Am I not a slave?’ is their excuse
for every detected delinquency, and we must admit its full validity. One
of these youths happening to be brother-in-law—after a fashion—to the
Jemadar, requires almost superhuman efforts to prevent him loading the
others with his own share.
The guide, Muigni Wazira, is a huge broad-shouldered, thick-waisted,
large-limbed Msawahili, with coal black skin and straight features,
massive and regular, which look as if cut in jet; a kind of face that
might be seen on the keystone of an arch. He frowns like the Jann spoken
of in the Arabian Nights, and he often makes me wish for a photographer.
He is purblind, a defect which does not, however, prevent his leading us
by the shortest path into every village that aspires to mulct our
slender store of sprig-muslin. Wazira is our rogue, rich in all the
perfections of African cunning. A prayerless Sherif, he utterly despises
all Makafiri or infidels; he has a hot temper, and when provoked he
roars like a wild beast. He began by stubbornly refusing to carry any
load; but he yielded when it was gently placed upon his heavy shoulder,
with a significant gesture in case of recusance. He does not, however,
neglect to pass it occasionally to his slave, who, poor wretch, is
almost broken down by the double burden.
Rahmat the Mekrani calls himself a Baloch, and bears the proud title of
Shah-Sawar, or the Rider King. He is the Chelebi, the dandy or tiger of
the party. A good-looking brown man, about 25 years of age, with a
certain affectation and girlishness of speech and tournure which bode no
good, the Rider King deals in the externals of respectability: he washes
and prays with artificial regularity; he is ever combing his long hair
and beard; he trains his bushy mustache to touch his eyes, and he binds
on crookedly a huge turban. His cue is to affect the Jemadar, to take
command. He would have monopolized, had I permitted him, the general
store of gunpowder, a small leathern bottle wrung from the C. O. at
Chogwe: and having somewhat high-flown ideas of discipline, he began by
stabbing a slave-boy. He talks loud in his nasal native Balochki,
debased Persian, ridiculous Arabic, and voluble Kisawahili; moreover,
his opinion is ever to the fore. The Rider King, pleading soldier,
refuses to carry anything but his matchlock and a private stock of
dates, which he keeps ungenerously to himself. He boasts of prowess in
vert and venison: I never saw him hit the mark, but we missed some
powder and ball, with which perhaps he may be more fortunate. Literally,
he was not worth his salt. Yet this knave had resolved to force himself
upon me when in June I set out for the Lake Regions, and made a show of
levelling his old shooting-iron. For sixpence a shot he might have fired
ad libitum.
Hamdan, a Maskat Arab, has seen better days, of which strong waters and
melancholia have removed all traces except a tincture of lettres. Our
Mullah, or chaplain-and-secretary, is small, thin, brown-skinned,
long-nosed, and green-eyed, with little spirit and less muscularity. A
crafty old traveller, he has a store of creature comforts for the
journey: he carries with his childish match-lock a drinking gourd and a
Ghi-pot, and for more reasons than one he sits apart at the camping
ground. Strongly contrasting with him is the ancient Mekrani Sha’ahan, a
decrepit giant with the negroid type of countenance, pockmarked, and
ugly enough to frighten. He is of the pig-headed, opposed to the
soft-brained, order of old man, hard and opinionated, selfish and
unmanageable. He smokes, and must drink water throughout the livelong
day. He dispenses the wisdom of a Dogberry, whereat all laugh; and much
to the disgust of his hearers, he either coughs or snores during the
hours of night. This senior will carry nothing but his long greasy gun,
gourd, and pipe; and, despite his grey beard, he is the drone of our
party.
Jemal and Murad Ali are our working men, excellent specimens of the true
Baloch, vieux grognards, with a grim sour humour, something like ‘wut,’
especially when the fair sex and its backslidings are concerned. They
have dark frowning faces, wrinkled and rugged as their natal hills, with
pads of muscle upon their short forearms and sinewy angular calves,
remarkable in this land of sheepshanks. Sparing of words, they grunt the
shortest answers when addressed; if they speak at all, it is in a roar
or a scream: they are angry men, uncommonly handy with their
well-polished daggers, and they think as little of cutting a negro’s as
a sheep’s throat. At the promise of an extra dollar they walk off under
heavy loads, besides carrying their arms and necessaries. These two, in
fact, are good men and true.
The gem of the party, however, is one Sidi Mubarak, who has taken to
himself the agnomen of ‘Bombay.’ His sooty skin, and teeth sharp-pointed
like those of the reptilia, denote his origin from Uhiao: he is one of
those model Seedies, runaway slaves, employed as lascars and
coal-trimmers, who with chaff, grimace, and peals of laughter, varied
now and then by dance and song, delight the passengers in an
Anglo-Indian steamer. Bombay, sold at Kilwa in early youth, a process of
which he talks with many broad grins, was carried to Cutch by some
Banyan, and there became a libertinus: he looks fondly back upon the
hour of his adoption, and he sighs for the day when a few dollars will
enable him to return. His head is a triumph to phrenology; a high narrow
cranium, denoting by arched and rounded crown, fuyant brow and broad
base with full development of the moral region, deficiency of the
reflectives, fine perceptives, and abundant animality. His hair is of
the woolliest: his twinkling little eyes are set close together, and his
lips and expansive mouth, especially in rare fits of ill-temper, project
as in the cynocephali. He works on principle and he works like a horse,
candidly declaring that not love of us but his duty to his belly make
him work. With a sprained ankle and a load quite disproportioned to his
chétif body, he insists upon carrying two guns, and after a 30 miles’
walk he is as fresh as before it began. He attends us everywhere,
manages our purchases, carries all our messages, and when not employed
by us, he is at every man’s beck and call. Speaking a little broken
Hindostani, he has for all ‘jungly niggers’ an ineffable contempt, which
he never attempts to conceal. He had enlisted under the Jemadar of
Chogwe: we thought, however, so highly of his qualifications, that
persuasion and paying his debts induced him after a little coqueting to
take leave of soldiering and to follow our fortunes. He began by
escorting us to Fuga as head gun-carrier: on our march to the Lakes he
was the confidential servant and interpreter of my companion, he being
the only man with whom the latter could converse, and in the Second
Expedition of Capts Speke and Grant he was promoted to command the
Wasawahili. Almost every black brain would have been turned by this
rapid and dazzling rise: Sidi Mubarak Bombay did _not_, however, as I
had anticipated, ‘prove himself a failure in the end.’
A machine so formed could hardly be expected to begin work without some
creaking. The Baloch were not entirely and solely under us, and in the
East no man will, even if he can, serve two masters. For the first few
days many a muttered cursing and loud wrangling showed signs of
dissolution. One would not proceed because the Rider King kept the
gunpowder, another started on his way home because he was refused some
dates, and, during the night after departure, all Bombay’s efforts, we
afterwards heard, were in requisition to prevent a break-up en masse.
But by degrees the component parts fitted smoothly and moved steadily,
till at last we had little to complain of, and the men volunteered to
follow wherever we might lead. By acting upon the old Oriental
principle, ‘the word is gone forth and must be heard,’ we never failed
to win a disputed point, and one success paved the way for others.
Amongst these perverse and headstrong races, however, the traveller must
be careful in committing himself to an ultimatum, and he must be
prepared when he says he will do a thing, to do it. Otherwise he will
speedily lose caste, and caste once lost is not to be regained—in Africa
or, perhaps, elsewhere.
NOTE.
Since these pages were written, Sidi Mubarak Bombay has been made Chief
of Caravan by Mr Stanley of New York, who is now (December 10, 1871)
marching upon the Tanganyika Lake in quest of Dr Livingstone.
-----
Footnote 31:
The Arabs, who have no P, must change it to an F, e.g. Fanga-ni and
Fagazi for Pagazi, a porter. The latter word is ridiculously enough
turned into a verb, e.g. ‘ba-yatafaggazú’, ‘they act carriers.’
Footnote 32:
Yet it has not become wholly obsolete. Mr Henry Adrian Churchill,
C.B., formerly H. M.’s Consul, Zanzibar, when examined before the
Select Committee on slave trade (July 13, 1871), made the total amount
of exportation from Zanzibar Island, $1,527,800. Of this $100,000
represented copal; $2400 stood for hippopotamus’ teeth; $663,600 for
ivory; and $270,000 for slaves. Thus no notice of cowries is taken;
and the trade rivalry of H.M. Régis and Fabre has succeeded in putting
down the shell-money.
Footnote 33:
Mr Wakefield (loc. cit.) writes the word ‘Rúvu,’ and says that it is
Kizegúa (Kizegura). I believe that this is the name by which it is
known, not only ‘a few days in the interior,’ but immediately beyond
the embouchure. As has already been remarked, the wild people would
pronounce the words Kizegúa and Mzegúa, the civilized Kizegura and
Mzegura. Dr Krapf prefers Luffu, Lufu being the more truly African
form. Mr Cooley (Lower Africa, &c., p. 79) has Ruvú, a mere error, and
he actually confounds it with the great Rufuma stream, a hundred miles
to the south.
Footnote 34:
The full-blooded negro is called Sidi (Seedy) or Sidi bhai (‘my lord
brother’) throughout Western India. I have said that the expression,
derived from his address to his master, is unknown at Zanzibar: to
Europe it is made familiar by El Cid Campeador, but it must not be
confounded with Sayyid, as it has lately been by a writer in the
Athenæum (No. 2288, Sept. 2, 1871).
Footnote 35:
Ch’hungu, the generic name for an ant, must not be confounded with
‘Chungu,’ a pot.
CHAPTER VII.
THE MARCH TO FUGA. ASCENT OF THE HIGHLANDS
OF EAST AFRICA. PRESENTATION TO
KING KIMWERE.
Es gibt in Central Afrika Paradiese, die mit der Zeit die Civilisation
aussuchen wird zum Besten der Menschheit.—J. VON MÜLLER.
On February 10, after a night of deep wilderness-silence, we arose
betimes, and applied ourselves to the task of porterage. The luggage was
again reduced—now to the very lowest expression. For observations we
carried sextant and horizon, two compasses and stand, and a common and a
boiling-point thermometer.[36] A waterproof carpet-bag contained
journals and materials for writing and sketching. Our arms were a
six-shooter each (4 lbs. 1 oz.), a Colt’s rifle (10 lbs. 8 oz.), a small
Büchse by Nowotny of Vienna (8 lbs. 3 oz.), a shot-gun (W. Richards, 11
lbs.), three swords, and two bowie-knives; in fact, fighting gear, with
the ammunition necessary for ourselves and men. A solid leather
portmanteau was stuffed with a change of raiment and a gift for Sultan
Kimwere, namely a coat of black broadcloth ($12), eight turbans of sprig
muslin ($8), a similar number of Surat embroidered caps ($8), and two
light-coloured cotton shawls of trifling value. Our provisions consisted
of three bags of rice ($12.50), a sack of dates ($2.25), onions, manioc,
flour, tea, and sugar, for 10 days; tobacco, pepper and salt, of which
none is procurable in the interior; a lamb, three chickens, and a bottle
of cognac, to be used in case of need. Our beds were in waterproofs,
which might also be converted into tents and awnings; a horn lantern,
wax candles, and a policeman’s dark-lantern, were added for night-work,
whilst a portable tin canteen, with a Papin’s digester, completed the
equipment. What we chiefly wanted were water-skins, beads, and
‘domestics;’ and this we presently found to our cost.
It was 6 A. M. before we were free to follow the thorny goat-track which
leads down the N. Eastern spur of Mount Tongwe. By dint of fighting our
way through rushes and tiger-grass, we struck into the Panga-ni road,
and after three hours’ winding to the north-west, we rested at some
fetid pools in a reed-grown fiumara. The sun began to sting, and we had
already occupied the shadow of a tall rock, intending to doze till the
afternoon, when Wazira, who had disappeared in the morning after hearing
the growling of a lion, returned to us, and for reasons of his own,
induced us to advance by promising better water. The path ran over stony
ground, at times plunging into the forest; there were frequent thorny
ridges, and narrow green dales or rather ravines, bordered with lovely
amphitheatres of lofty and feathery tropical trees, showing signs of
inundation during the rains. But the Kazkazi, or N. East monsoon, had
dried up the marrow of the land, and though we searched secundum artem,
as for treasure, we found no water.
Noon came, and the sun towered in its pride of place. Even whilst
toiling up the stony, dusty track, over a series of wearisome,
monotonous slopes, unvisited by the cool sea-breeze, we could not but
remark the novel aspect of the land. The ground was brick-red, a
favourite colour in Africa as in the Brazil, and its stain extended
half-way up the tree-boles, which the ants had streaked with ascending
and descending galleries. Overhead floated, cloud-like, a filmy canopy
of sea-green verdure, pierced by myriads of little sun pencils; whilst
the effulgent dome, purified as with fire from mist and vapour, set the
picture in a frame of gold and ultramarine. Painful splendours! The men
began to drop off. None but Hamdan had brought a gourd. Sha’aban
clamoured for water. Wazira, and the four slave-boys, retired to some
puddle, a discovery which they sensibly kept to themselves, leaving the
rest of the party to throw themselves upon the hot ground, and to cower
under tree and bush.
As the sun sank westward, Wazira joined us with a mouthful of lies, and
the straggling line advanced. Our purblind guide once more lagged in the
rear, yielding the lead to old Sha’aban. This worthy, whose wits were
absorbed in visions of water, strode blunderingly ahead over the hills
and far away, guided by the Khombora cone. My companion, keeping him in
sight, and I being in rear of both, we all three missed the path, and
shortly after sunset we reached a narrow fiumara. Here stood, delightful
sight! some puddles, bright-green with chickweed and brown-black with
the mire below. We quenched our thirst, and bathed our swollen feet, and
patted, and felt, and handled the fluid, as though we loved it. But even
this charming occupation had an end, and other thoughts suggested
themselves. Our shots and shouts remained unanswered, and it would have
been the merest midsummer-madness to have wandered in the dubious
moonlight about the thorny, pathless jungle. We therefore kindled a
fire, looked to our weapons, chose a soft sandy place under the bank,
and certain that Sha’aban would tend the fire like a Vestal virgin, we
were soon lulled to sleep by the music of the breeze, and by the frogs
chaunting their ancient querele upon the miry margin of the pools. That
day’s work had been only three leagues and a bittock. But—
‘These high, wild hills, and rough, uneven ways
Draw out the miles:’
it seemed as though we had marched double distance; a circumstance which
the young African traveller would do well to note.
At dawn, after our supperless bivouac, we retraced our steps, and soon
came upon our people, who shouted aloud, Khayr! Khayr! They had taken
the northern path, and they had nighted also near water, upon the upper
course of the fiumara which gave us hospitality. The Nyuzi is a rocky
bed about 20 feet broad, showing traces of violent periodical freshets,
edged with thick trees, gummy acacias, wild mulberries, and large
wood-apples (Feronias). Even in the driest season it preserves pools,
sometimes 100 feet long, and water is always procurable by digging in
the sand. The banks shelter various birds and antelopes. We found doves,
kites, and curlews, whilst large iguanas congregated around the water to
dine upon the fish-fry which die of heat in the sun-scalded shallows.
After shaking hands all around, and settling sundry small disputes about
the right and the wrong, we spread our mats in the grateful shade, and
made up for the past with tea and tobacco. During the day our Baloch
shaved one another’s heads, and plaited Sawás, or sandals of palm-leaf.
The guide engaged, as extra porters, five wild men, habited in the
simplest attire—a kilt of dried grass, with the upper ends woven into a
cord of the same material. This thatch, fastened round the waist,
extended to mid-thigh: it is cool, clean, and certainly as decent as the
garb of the Gael. All had bows and poisoned arrows, except one, who
boasted of a miserable musket and of literally a powder-horn, the vast
spoils of a cow, slung across his shoulder. The wretches were lean as
wintry wolves, and not less ravenous. We fed them with rice and Ghi: of
course they asked for more, till their stomachs, before shrunken like
empty bladders, stood out in the shape of little round lumps from the
hoop work of ribs. We had neglected to take their arms by way of pledges
to the contract: after amply feeding they arose, and with small, beady
eyes twinkling at the practical joke, they bade us adieu. Though
starving, they would not work! A few hours afterwards they fell in with
the hippopotamus, for which they were waiting, as it passed from the
feeding-grounds to its day-home in the stream. Behemoth is a helpless
beast on dry land. He was presently surrounded by his enemies,
porcupined with arrows, and soon nothing of him remained but a heap of
bones and a broad stain of blood.
We rested till 3.15 P.M. in the grateful shade, and then, persuading our
carriers to load one another, an operation still of some difficulty, we
advanced over a path dented by the spoor of wild cattle. The rolling
ground was a straggling thorn-jungle, a ‘forest without shade,’ studded
with bright blossoms: the usual black-jacks were scattered about a
plain, fired to promote the growth of fodder, and ant-hills rose
regularly like Irish ‘fairy-mounts,’ as if disposed by the hand of art.
Needless to say that all was desert of man. The Khombora Cone fell far
behind: the walls of Usagama, whose peaks, smoking by day and burning by
night, resembled fumaroles from afar, changed their blue tints first for
brown and then for a distinct green hue. At length, emerging from the
wood, we debouched upon an alluvial plain, and sighted the welcome river
flashing light through its setting of emerald trees, as it mirrored the
westing orb of day. At 6 P.M., after a 10-mile walk, traversing the tall
rushes, young trees, and thick underwood of the bank, we found ourselves
opposite Kohode, the village of a friendly Mzegura chief. ‘Sultan Mamba’
having recognized the Baloch, forthwith donned his scarlet cloak,
superintended the launching of the village canoe from its cajan house;
stood surrounded by the elders watching our transit, and, as we landed,
wrung our hands with rollicking greetings, and with those immoderate
explosive cachinnations, which render the African family to all
appearance so ‘jolly’ a race.
The Thursday was a halt at Kohode. It is the normal cultivator’s hamlet
of these regions, built upon the tall and stiff clay bank of the
Panga-ni river, here called the Rufu or Lufu. According to the people
this would mean death or destruction, no bad description of a stream
swarming with crocodiles, and we find the dissyllable commencing many
riverine names, as Rufiji, Rufuma, and Rufuta. From without the
settlement has a pleasant appearance of seclusion and rural comfort: it
suggested a village in the Tirhai or the Dehra Dhun: there was the same
peaceful quiet look, sheltered situation, and circle of tall forest.
Rendered invisible till near by screening tree, bush, and spear grass,
it is protected by a stout palisade of trunks, and this, in directions
where foes, human or bestial, may be expected, is doubled and trebled.
The entrances, in the shape of low triangles, formed by inclining the
posts en chevron, lead to a heap of wattle and dab huts, here square,
there round: they are huddled together, but where space allows they are
spread over a few hundred feet. Goats, sheep, and black cattle, which,
contrary to the custom of Guinea, thrive beyond the coast, are staked
near or inside the owners’ habitations. From the deep strong-flowing
Rufu, running purple, like Adonis after rains, with the rich loam of the
hills, and here about 80 yards wide, a bathing-place is staked off,
against the hippopotamus and the crocodile. Our Baloch, who hold, with
all Orientials, that drinking the element at night impairs digestion,
make of this an exception: and my companion, an old Himalayan, thought
that he could detect in it the peculiar rough smack of snow water. The
stream is navigable, but boats are arrested by the falls below, and
portages are not yet known in East Africa.
The villagers are cultivators, tame, harmless heathen, to all but one
another: unfortunately they have become masters of muskets, and they use
the power to plunder, and oppress those who have it not. ‘Sultan Mamba,’
the crocodile,[37] a stout, jolly, beardless young black, with the laugh
of a boatswain, and the voice of one calling in the wilderness, has made
himself a thorn in Kimwere’s side. In supplying us with beef and milk,
he jerked his thumb back towards the blue hills of Usumbara, upon whose
mountain-pass the smoke of watch-fires curled high, and declared, with
gusto, that we had already become the hill-king’s guests. Our Baloch
guard applauded this kindred soul, clapped him upon the shoulder, and
swore that with a score of men-at-arms like themselves he might soon
make himself monarch of all the mountains.
‘Sultan Mamba’ once visited Zanzibar, where his eyes were at once opened
to Koranic truth by the Kazi Muhiyy el Din: this distinguished Msawahili
D. D. conferred upon the neophyte the name of Abdullah bin Muhiyy el
Din, and thus called him son. But the old Mamba returned strong upon
Abdullah when he sniffed once more his natal air: he fell away from
prayer and ablution and grace generally, to the more congenial practices
of highwaying and of hard drinking. This amiable youth, who was endowed
with an infinite power of surprise and an inveterate itching for
beggary, sat with us half the day and inspected our weapons for hours,
wondering how he could obtain something of the kind. He asked at one
time for the Colt, at another for a barrel of gunpowder: now he offered
to barter slaves for arms and ammunition, and when night fell he privily
sent Hamdan to request a bottle of cognac. All these things were refused
in turn, and the Sultan was fain to be content with two caps, a pair of
muslins, and a cotton shawl. He seriously advised us to return with some
twenty kegs of the best gunpowder, which, as the article was ever in
demand, would bring, he assured us, excellent business in ‘black
diamonds.’ He stated that his people had but three wants—powder, ball,
and brandy, and that they could supply in return three things—men,
women, and children. Our parting was truly pathetic. He swore that he
loved us, and promised us on the down march the use of his canoe. But
when we appeared with empty hands, and neither caps nor muslins
remained, Sultan Mamba scarcely deigned to notice us, and the river
became a succession of falls and rapids.
After a night, in which the cimex lectularius had by a long chalk the
advantage of the drowsy god, we were ferried at 7 A.M., on February 13,
across the stream, attended by sundry guides. The start was generally
too late. A seasoned traveller easily bears scorching heat if he sets
out with the dawn and works into the sultry hours: after a morning spent
in the shade he will suffer more or less severely from sudden exposure.
From Kohode, which is more than half way, there are two roads to Fuga.
The direct line, running nearly due north, crosses the Highlands: at
this season it is waterless. That along the river is more than double
the length: it begins to the N. West and then turns sharply to the East.
We determined to see the stream, and we doubted the power of our
heavily-laden men to front the passes in such heat: the worst of these
walking journeys is that the least accident disables the traveller, and
accidents will happen to the best of marching parties.
Presently emerging from the thicket, we fell into the beaten track over
the dark alluvial river-plain, which here, as at Chogwe, must during
rains be a sheet of water. This is the first section of our line; the
second will be the red land with rises and falls, but gently upsloping
to the west, whilst the third and last will be the granite and sandstone
flanks of Usumbara. After a few minutes’ march we crossed by a bridge
composed of a fallen tree the Luangera (miscalled Luere by Herr Augustus
Petermann): this deep sullen affluent of the Rufu, 23 to 24 feet broad,
drains the North-Eastern Bamburri mountains. Then stretching over the
grassy expanse, we skirted two small red cones, the Ngua outliers of the
high Vugiri range. Like its eastern neighbour Usagama, this buttress of
Usumbara is the normal precipice with bluff sides of rock, well wooded
on the summit, and looking a proper place for ibex: of this animal, a
well-marked species (C. Walie), with thick and prominently ribbed horns,
has been found in the snowy heights of Abyssinia, and it probably
extends to the gigantic peaks of the Æthiopic Olympus. The Vugiri forms
part of the escarpment line separating the highlands from the river
plain to the south. The people assured us that the summit is a fertile
rolling plateau which supports an abundant population of Washenzi,
serfs, and clients, subject to King Kimwere.
We then entered upon cultivated ground, which seemed a garden after the
red waste below Tongwe. Cocoas and tall trees concealed the Rufu, which
above its junction with the Luangera becomes a mere mountain-torrent,
roaring down a rocky, tortuous bed, and forming green, tufted islets,
which are favourite sites for settlements. We can hardly, however, call
them, with Boteler, an archipelago. Our guides presently took leave,
alleging a blood-feud with the neighbouring villagers. The people, as we
passed by, flocked over their rude bridges, which extend up coast to
Brava, floors of narrow planks laid horizontally upon rough piers of
cocoa-trunks, forked to receive cross-pieces, and planted a few feet
apart. The structure is parapeted with coarse basket-work, and sometimes
supplied with fibrous creepers, jungle-ropes, knotted in 20 places, by
way of hand-rail. These the number and daring of the crocodiles render
necessary. I was once innocently sitting upon a slab of stone surrounded
by the water, and greatly enjoying the damp and the coolth, when, with a
rush and a roar, as if it had been an attack, my men fell upon me, and
hurried me to the bank. All here believe that the crocodile sweeps off
its prey with a blow of the powerful tail, and once in the water, man is
helpless against the big lizard. These constructions are at least more
artful than the Pingela or single plank of the Brazil, and the
tight-rope affairs of the Himalayas: they must much resemble the bridges
of inner Devonshire, that ‘sleeping beauty of the (near) West,’ during
the days of our grandfathers. Cows, goats, and long-tailed sheep
clustered upon the plains, and gave a pastoral aspect to the
out-of-the-way scene.
We halted from 10 A. M. to 4 P. M., under a spreading tamarind, near
Zafura, a village on an island of the Panga-ni, distant about two miles
from Mount Vugiri. Here we were surrounded by crowds, who feasted their
eyes upon us for consecutive hours. They were unarmed and dressed in
skins; they spoke the Kizegura dialect, which differs greatly from the
Kisawahili; and they appeared rather timid than dangerous. Their sultan
stalked about, spear in hand, highly offended by our not entering his
hut, and dropping some cloth; whilst sundry Wasawahili in red caps
looked daggers at the white interlopers. We tried to hire extra porters,
but having neither Merkani (American domestics) nor beads, we notably
failed.
Presently black nimbi capped the hill-tops, cooling the fierce Sirocco,
and the low growling of distant thunder warned us forwards. Resuming our
march at 3.30 P. M., we crossed a dry fiumara, trending towards the
Rufu. We traversed a hill-spur of rolling and thorny red ground, to
avoid a deep loop in the stream; we passed a place were rushes and
tiger-grass choked the bed, and where the divided waters, apparently
issuing from a black jungle and a dark rock, foamed down a steep and
jagged incline. We crossed over two bridges, and at 5 P. M. we entered a
village of Wazegura, distant from Kohode 12 miles. Msiki Mguru is a
cluster of hay-cock huts touching one another, and built upon an island
formed by divers rapid and roaring branches of the river. The headman
was sick, but we found a hospitable reception. Uninitiated in the
African secret of strewing ashes round the feet of the Kitanda or
cartel, we spent our night, although we eschewed the dirty, close huts,
battling with ant armies and other little slayers of sleep that shall be
nameless. Our hosts, speaking about the Wamasai, expressed great terror,
which was justified by the sequel. Scarcely had we left the country,
when a band of wild spearmen attacked two neighbouring villages,
slaughtered the hapless cultivators, and with pillage and pollage drove
off the cattle in triumph. Our hosts watched with astonishment the
magical process of taking an altitude of Capella, and they were anxious
to do business in female slaves, honey, goats, and sheep. Some of the
girls were rather comely, despite the tattoo that looked like boils.
None showed the least fear or bashfulness; but when the Baloch chaffed
them, and asked how they would like the ‘men in trowsers’ as husbands,
they simply replied, ‘Not at all!’
At sunrise on the next morning we resumed our march, following the left
bank of the Rufu, which is here called Kirua. For about three miles it
is a broad line of flat boulders, thicket, grass, and sedge, with divers
trickling streams between. At the Maurwi village the several branches
anastomoze, forming a deep and strong but navigable stream, about 30
yards broad, and fenced with bulging masses of vegetation. Thence we
bent northward, over rolling ground of red clay, here cultivated, there
a thorny jungle, trending to Tamota, another bluff in the hill-curtain
of Usumbara. The paths were crowded with a skin-clad and grass-kilted
race, chiefly women and small girls; the latter, by-the-by, displaying
very precocious developments, and leading children, each with a button
of hair left upon its scraped crown. The adults, toiling under loads of
manioc, holcus and maize, pumpkins and plantains, poultry, sugar-cane,
and water-pots, in which tufts of leaves had been stuck to prevent
splashing, were bound for a Golio (market) held in an open place. Here
their own land begins: none started at or fled from the white face.
[Illustration: HILLS OF USUMBARA.]
The men chip their teeth to points, and, like the Wasumbara, punch out
in childhood one incisor from the lower jaw; a piece of dried rush or
sugar-cane distends the ear-lobe to an unsightly size. All carried bows
and arrows. Some shouldered such hoes and hatchets as English children
use upon the sands: here bounteous earth, fertilized by the rains of
heaven, requires merely the scratching of a man’s staff. Others led
stunted curs, much like the pariah dogs of Hindostan, adorned with
leather collars: I afterwards saw similar pets at the Yellalah of the
Congo river. The animals are prime favourites with the savages, as were
the Spanish puppies in the days of Charles II.; they hold a dog-stew to
be a dish fit for a king. In West Africa also the meat finds many
admirers, and some missionaries in the Niger regions have described it
as somewhat glutinous, but ‘very sweet.’ Why should we not have
cynophages as well as hippophages?
The salutations of these savages provoked the comical wrath of Sidi
Bombay; and indeed they were not a little ridiculous. Acquaintances
stood afar off, as if in fear of each other, and nosed forth ‘Kua-heri,’
and protracted hans and huns, until they had relieved their minds. None,
even the women, refused to greet us, and at times Yambo—the state?—was
uttered simultaneously by a score of sable lips. Having duly stared and
been stared at, we unloaded for rest about 9.30 A. M., under a spreading
tree, near the large, double-fenced village of Pasunga, belonging to one
of Sultan Kimwere’s multitudinous sons. Again clouds obscured the air,
gathering thick upon the mountain-tops, whence came the mutterings of
thunder from afar.
Presently the pleasant coolness drew from the Baloch cries of Safar!
Safar!—let us march! At 1 P. M. we resumed our way, and presently we
passed, on our left hand, a tank of mire and water, thinly sprinkled
with paddy-birds, sand-pipers, and Egyptian geese—all exceedingly wild.
Hornbills screamed from the neighbouring trees, and on the mud my
companion shot a specimen of the gorgeous crested crane, whose back
feathers have made bonnets fine. After an hour’s march we skirted a
village where the people peremptorily commanded us to halt. We
attributed this annoyance to Wazira, who was forthwith visited with a
severe wigging. It is, however, partly the custom of the country: and
even in the far less barbarous Angola, to pass a farm-house without
entering it is to insult the proprietor. Man claims a right to hear from
the wandering stranger news—a pabulum which his soul loves: to coin the
most improbable nonsense; to be told lies with the bloom on them, and to
retail them to his neighbours, are the mental distractions of the idler,
equally the primum mobile of a Crimean ‘shave’ and of an African
palaver. But the impending rain had sharpened our tempers. We laughed in
the faces of our furious expostulators, and bidding them stop us if they
could, we pursued our way.
Presently ascending a hill and making an abrupt turn from N. West nearly
due East, we found ourselves opposite and about 10 miles distant from a
tall azure hill-curtain, the highlands of Fuga. Below, the plain was
everywhere populous with scatters of haycock villages. Lofty tamarinds,
the large-leaved plantain, and the parasol-shaped papaw grew wild
amongst the thorny trees. Water stood in black pools, and around it
waved luxuriant sugar-cane: in a moment every mouth was tearing at and
chewing the end of a long pole. The cane is of the edible species; the
officinal varieties are too luscious, cloying, and bilious to be sucked
with impunity by civilized man. After walking that day a total of 16
miles, about 4 P. M. we were driven by a violent storm of thunder,
lightning, and raw S. West wind, which at once lowered the mercury
several degrees, and caused the slaves to shudder and whimper, into the
Banda-ni or Palaver-house of a large village. Our shelter consisted of a
thatched roof propped by rough uprights and wanting walls: the floor was
half mud, half mould, and the furniture was represented by stone slabs
used as hones, and by hollowed logs once bee-hives and now seats. The
only tenants were flies and mosquitos. We lighted fires to keep off
fevers: this precaution should never be neglected by the African
traveller, even during the closest evenings of the tropical hot season.
Our Baloch, after the usual wrangle about rations, waxed melancholy,
shook their heads, and declared that the Kausi, the S. West trade-wind
that brings the wet monsoon, was fast approaching, if, indeed, it had
not regularly set in.
Sunday, February 15, dawned with one of those steady little cataclysms,
which to be seen advantageously must be seen near the Line. At 11 A.M.,
thoroughly tired of the steaming Banda-ni, our men loaded, and we set
out in a lucid interval towards the highlands. As we approached them the
rain shrank to a mere spitting, gradually ceased, and was replaced by
that reeking, fetid, sepulchral heat, which travellers in the tropics
have learned to fear. The path lay over the normal red clay, crossed low
ground where trees decayed in stagnant water, and spanned the cultivated
plain of dark mould at the foot of the mountains, with a vista of far
blue hill on the right. We rested a few minutes before attempting the
steep incline before us: the slippery, muddy way had wearied our slaves,
though aided by three porters hired that morning, and the sun,
struggling with vapours, was still hot enough to overpower the whole
party.
At 1 P. M. we proceeded to breast the pass leading from the lowland
alluvial plain to the threshold of the Æthiopic Olympus. The
gently-rising path, spread with decayed foliage, wound amongst groves of
large, coarse bananas, whose arms of satiny sheen here smoothed and
streaked, there shredded by the hill-winds, hid purple flowers and huge
bunches of green fruit. The Musa, which an old traveller describes as an
assemblage of leaves interwoven and twisted together so neatly, that
they form a plant about 15 spans high, is an aboriginal of Hindostan,
and possibly of East Africa, where, however, the seeds might easily have
been floated from the East: it grows almost spontaneously in Unyamwezi
and upon the shores of the great inland lakes. Here the banana,[38]
which maturing rapidly affords a perennial supply of fruit, and whose
enormous rate of produce has been described by many writers, is the
staff of savage life, windy as the acorn which is supposed to have fed
our forefathers in Europe. As usual where men are compelled by their
wants to utilize a single tree, the cocoa, for instance, or the
calabash, these East Africans apply the plantain to a vast variety of
uses, and allow no part of it to be wasted. The stem when green gives
water enough to quench the wanderer’s thirst and to wash his hands; the
parenchyma has somewhat the taste of cucumber, and sun-dried it is
employed for fuel. The fresh cool leaves are converted into rain-pipes,
spoons, plates, and even bottles: desiccated they make thatch, and a
substitute for wrapping-papers; and some have believed that they were
the original fig-leaves of the first man and his wife. The trunk-fibre
does good service in all the stages between thread and cord: the fruit
yields wine, sugar, and vinegar, besides bread and vegetable, and even
the flower is reduced to powder and mixed with snuff. Never transplanted
and allowed to grow from its own suckers, this banana has now
degenerated: it is easy to see, however, that it comes of a noble stock.
In parts of the interior the people have during a portion of the year
little else to live upon but this fruit, boiled, baked, and dried: it
then becomes a nauseating diet, causing flatulence, indigestion,
heart-burn, and other gastric evils. After enduring the infliction I
never again could look a banana in the face.
Issuing from the dripping canopy, we breasted a steep goat-track, we
forded a crystal burn, and having reached the midway we sat down to
enjoy the rarified air, which felt as if a weight had been suddenly
taken off our shoulders; it was São Paolo after Santos. A palpable
change of climate had already taken place, and the sunshine was tempered
with clouds which we now blessed. The view before us was extensive and
suggestive, if not beautiful. The mountain fell under our feet in rugged
folds clothed with patches of plantains, wild mulberries, custard
apples, and stately trees whose lustrous green glittered against the red
ochreous earth. The sarsaparilla vine hung in clusters and festoons from
the high supporting limbs of the tamarind; the tall toddy-palm raised
its fantastic arms over the dwarf fan palm, and bitter oranges mingled
aroma with herbs not unlike our mint and sage. Opposite and below, half
veiled with rank steam, the ‘smokes’ of Western Africa, lay the yellow
Nyika and the Wazegura lowlands: it was traversed by a serpentine of
trees marking the course of the Mkomafi, an affluent of the lower
Panga-ni river. Three dwarf cones, the Mbara Hills, bearing 230° and
distant about eight miles, crowned the desert, and far beyond the
well-wooded line of the Rufu, a uniform purple plain stretched to the
rim of the Southern and Western horizon, as far as our glasses could
trace it.
We were startled from our observations by a prodigious hubbub. The three
fresh porters positively refused to proceed unless a certain number of
cloths were sent forwards to propitiate the magnates of Fuga. This trick
was again easily traced to Wazira, who had been lecturing us all the
morning upon the serious nature of our undertaking. Sultan Kimwere was a
potent monarch, not a Mamba. His ‘ministers’ and councillors would,
unless well-paid, avert from us their countenances. We must enter with
discharge of musketry to salute the lieges, and by all means we must be
good boys and do as we were bid. The Baloch smiled contempt, and pulling
up the porters from the ground, loaded them deaf to all remonstrance.
Resuming our march with hearts beating aloud under the unusual exercise,
we climbed, rather than walked, up the deep bed of a torrent,—everywhere
the primitive zigzag. Villages then began to appear perched like eyries
upon the hilltops, and villagers gathered to watch our approach. The
Baloch asked us to taste the water of a spring that rose hard by:
sparkling in the cup it was icy cold, with a perceptible chalybeate
flavour, and the fountain-head was stained with a coat of rust. Eastern,
and we may say Southern, Africa from the Equator to the Cape, is a land
whose stones are iron, and the people declare that they have dug
_brass_. Copper has been long known, gold even longer, and the diamond,
in the South at least, is the discovery of this our day.[39]
At 4 P. M. we stood upon the Pass summit, but we found no tableland, as
about Shoa. This patch of highlands, whose limits have been roughly laid
down between N. lat. 1° and S. lat. 6°, is to the eastern regions what
the massif of the Camarones and its system in N. lat. 5° is to Western
Africa. The latter is known to be a volcano, and the former has been
also reported of igneous formation;[40] here, however, it appears in the
shape of granite and sandstones. Both are abnormal elevations, declining
to the coast-fringing ranges, which latter correspond with our Eastern
and Western Ghauts of Hindostan, and both, I may venture to predict,
will in due time be colonized by white men. In the present day there is
no better convict station than the Camarones mountain, and Usumbara
might be preferred to the Andamans as a penitentiary for criminals who
have deserved the Kálá pání.
The ‘cloud-light’ was that of our English climate: the scenery around us
reminded my companion of Almorah, me of the Blue Mountains in Southern
India. There were the same rounded cones, fertilized by rainy winds,
tapestried with velvety grass, and ribbon’d with paths of red clay; the
same ‘Sholas,’ black forest patches clothing the slopes; the same
emerald swamps through which transparent runnels continually trickled,
and little torrents and rocky linns. Here, however, we find a contrast
of aspects: the Northern and Eastern slopes are bluff and barren, whilst
the Southern and Western teem with luxuriant vegetation. The reeking and
well-irrigated plains to the West are well wooded, and we were shown the
water of Masindi, a long narrow tank, upon whose banks elephants, they
say, abound. N. Westward the mountains are apparently higher and
steeper, and about 10 miles farther West the giant flanks of Makumbara,
whose head was capped with cloud-heaps, bound our prospect. We now stood
about 4000 feet above sea level; 37 direct miles from the coast, and 74
to 75 along the winding river.
After another three-mile walk along the flanks of domed hills, and
crossing a shallow burn which seemed to freeze our parched feet, we
turned a corner and suddenly sighted, upon the summit of a grassy cone
opposite, an unfenced heap of haycock huts, a cluster of bee-hives with
concentric rings—Fuga. As we drew near, our Baloch formed up and fired a
volley, which brought out of the settlement the hind and his wife, and
his whole meine. This being one of the cities forbidden to strangers, we
were led by Wazira through timid crowds, that shrank back as we
approached, to four tattered huts, standing about 300 feet below the
settlement, and assigned by superstition as a traveller’s bungalow. Even
the son and heir of great Kimwere must here abide till the lucky hour
admits him to the royal city and presence. The cold rain and the sharp
rarified air, which would have been a tonic in a well-appointed
sanitarium, rendered any shelter acceptable: we cleared the hovels of
sheep and goats, housed our valuables, and sent Sidi Bombay to the
Sultan, requesting the honour of an interview.
Before dark appeared three bare-headed Mdoe or Ministers, who declared
in a long palaver that council must squat upon two knotty points. Primò,
why and wherefore had we entered the king’s country viâ the hostile
Wazegura? Secundò, when would his Majesty’s Mganga or Magician priest
find an hour propitious for the ceremony? Sharp-witted Hamdan, at once
and unprompted, declared us to be also Waganga, men whose powers
extended to measuring the moon and stars, and to controlling the wind
and rain. Away ran the ministers to report the wonder, and whilst they
are absent I will briefly explain what in these regions a Mganga is.
The Mganga in Angola Nganga, called by the Arabs Bassár (seer) and Tabíb
(physician), and by us priest, magician, rain-doctor, and medicine-man,
combines, as these translations show, medical with supernatural powers:
he may be considered the embryo of a sacerdotal order amongst the embryo
civilizations of man. Thus Siberia has Shamans, and Greenland Angekoks;
North America Medicine-men, and South America Pagés: the Galla believes
in his Kalishah, the Kru Republic in her Deyabos, the Congo in
Fetish-men, and the Cape Kafirs in witch doctors, who, with certain of
the missionaries, have ever been the chief originators of our colonial
troubles. In Eastern Africa, from the Somali country southwards, the
rains, so wearisome to the traveller, are a boon to the savage, who,
especially in the sub-tropical regions and those beyond the path of the
sun, sees during droughts his children and cattle dying of hunger and
thirst. Rain-charming is the popular belief of Africa, where the new
comer’s reception will generally depend upon the state of the weather.
The demand produces a supply of intellectuals, who, for the
consideration of a lazy monastic kind of life, abundant respect from an
ignorant laity, and the great political influence which they command,
boldly assert an empire over the meteors. The folly is not confined, be
it said, to these barbarous lands: in Ireland the owner of a four-leaved
shamrock can or could cause or stop showers, and the Fins on board our
ships still deal with the clerk of the weather for fair winds. The Hindu
Jogi, the Bayragi, and the Sita-Rami have similar powers: at Porebunder
I heard of a man who, when torrents of rain injured the crops, was
threatened by the Raja with a ‘cotton coat,’ that is to say, with a
padded dressing-gown, well oiled and greased, girt tightly round him,
and set on fire. In civilization the last remnant of the barbarous
belief is the practice of public prayer for rain, a process far less
troublesome and not nearly so efficacious as planting trees and
preserving the land from being disforested. During the last threatened
drought in Syria the people of Bayrut assembled in the main square, all
separated into groups according to their faiths, of which there are a
couple of dozen. One party was of children, who, when the seniors
failed, thus addressed heaven: ‘O Lord, if Thou disregard the petitions
of our parents, they being sinners, and so forth, at least listen to us,
being still in our virginal innocence!’ But the rain did not come, and
the innocents went away unwhipped. Had the late Fuad Pasha been there he
would, before sanctioning the assemblage, have consulted a
meteorologist.
Near the Line it is easy to predict rain, and with thermometer and
hygrometer—the latter far better than a barometer—man should never make
a mistake. The Mganga delays his incantations till mists gather upon the
mountain-tops and the Fetish is finished, as the cooling air can no
longer support the superabundant moisture. Success brings both solid
pudding and empty praise: failure, the trifling inconvenience of
changing residence. Amongst the fiercer races, however, the wizard not
unfrequently falls a victim to hope deferred, and there are parts of
Africa where, as the venerable Mr Moffat says, he seldom, if ever, dies
upon his mat.
The Mganga of Usumbara has manifold duties. He must as often be a
rain-stopper as a rain-healer. He sprinkles the stranger with the blood
of sheep and other medicines, the aspersory being a cow’s tail: upon the
departing guest he gently spits, bidding him go in peace and do the
people no harm. He marks ivory with magic signs, to ensure the tusk
safely reaching the coast. During sickness he lays the ghost or haunting
fiend, and applies the rude simples which here act ‘second causes.’ He
presides at the savage ordeals. If the Sultan lose health or a villager
die, he finds out the guilty one that bewitched the sufferer, and hands
him over to the ‘secular arm’ for burning, cutting to pieces, or other
such well-merited doom. Here, unless well fee’d, he thrusts into the
accused’s mouth a red-hot hatchet, which has no power to burn the
innocent or the strong-nerved guilty: in other parts he makes him or her
swallow a cup of poison, which is duly tempered for the wealthy. In
Usumbara the instrument of his craft is a bundle of small sticks: these
form, when thrown upon the ground, certain figures: hence the Arabs
translate Báo, or Uganga—the Mganga’s art—by Raml or Geomancy, whose
last and ignoblest form is the ‘Book of Fate,’ attributed to Napoleon I.
Similarly in Kafir land, sorcerers use sticks or bones, which are
supposed to have the power of motion.
The Waganga are mostly open to the persuasions of cloth and beads. One
saw the spirit of a pale-face occupying a chair which was brought as a
present to King Kimwere, and broadly insinuated that none but the wise
deserved such seat. But let not the reader suppose that these men are
pure impostors. It would be, indeed, a subtle task to trace how far
those who deal in the various mysteries called supernaturalisms are
deceived or are deceivers, impostors or believers. Fools and knaves
there are, of course, in abundance; but there is a residue, a tertium
quid, which is neither one nor the other, and yet which custom and
education condemn to act like both. Mental reservation and pious frauds
are certainly not monopolized by civilization, nor by any stage of
society. There is no folly conceivable by the mind of man in which man
has not honestly, firmly, and piously placed his trust. And when man
lays down his life, or gives up everything which makes life worth living
for, in testimony to his belief, he proves conclusively, not the truth
of his tenets, but that he believed them to be true: he compels us to
wonder at the obstinacy, rather than to admire the fortitude, of the
martyr.
The word Bassár, a seer, forms, I may here remark, a connecting link
between the mental sight of the Arabs, the second-sight of Scotland,
and, to mention no others, the clairvoyance of modern mesmerism. It
alludes to that abnormal exertion of the will, sometimes verging upon
the ecstatic state, which enables the brain to behold before it, and
without external sight, a panorama of the past, the present and the
future; whilst a thousand instances have shown that such scenic
exhibitions of things absolutely unknown to the seer have actually come
to pass. Almost invariably also the Mganga has, or induces, the ‘disease
which precedes the power to divine’; and he attributes it to ancestral
ghosts, which would now be called spirits.
At 6 P. M. the ‘Ministers’ ran back, and summoned us, breathless, to the
‘Palace.’ They led the way, through wind, and rain, and gathering gloom,
to a clump of the usual huts, half hidden by trees, and spreading over a
little eminence opposite to and below Fuga. We were allowed but three
Baloch as escort. Their matchlocks were taken away, and a demand was put
in for our swords, which of course we insisted upon retaining. The
natural suspiciousness of the negro is always exaggerated by being in
the neighbourhood of a more advanced race. Here even Hamdan became a
Rustam.
Sultan Kimwere half rose from his couch as we entered, and motioned us
to sit upon low stools in front of him. The Simba wa Muigni—Lion of the
Lord[41]—was an old, old man (un vieux vieux), with emaciated frame, a
beardless, wrinkled face like a grandam’s, a shaven head, disfurnished
jaws, and hands and feet stained with leprous spots. We saw nothing of
the ‘lion-like royal personage,’ the ‘tall and corpulent form with
engaging features,’ and the ‘large eyes, red and penetrating, which cast
a powerful look’ upon Dr Krapf in September, 1848, when the ‘king’
visited him, with a Highland tail and heralds singing out, ‘O Lion!’ His
subjects declare him to be a centagenarian, and he is certainly dying of
age and decay—the worst of diseases. The royal dress was a Surat cap
much the worse for wear, and a loin-wrap as tattered. He was covered, as
he lay upon his Jágá, or cot of bamboo and cowskin, with the doubled
cotton cloth called in India a ‘do-pattá,’ and he rested upon a Persian
rug apparently coeval with his person.
The hut resembled that of a simple cultivator; possibly it was as good
as the palace of wicker-wattles occupied by Henry II. at Dublin. It was
redolent of high dignitaries, dirty as their prince, some fanning him,
others chatting, and all puffing from long-stemmed pipes with small
ebony bowls the Abnús, which, according to the Baloch, is found growing
all over the country. Our errand was inquired, and we were duly welcomed
to Fuga: as the two Wasawahili secretaries had long ago been dismissed,
and none could read the Sayyid of Zanzibar’s introductory letter, I was
compelled to act clerk. The centagenarian had heard that we were
accustomed to scrutinize trees and stones as well as stars: he therefore
decided that we really were European Waganga, or medicine-men, and he
directed us at once to compound a draught which would restore him that
evening to health and strength. I objected that all our drugs had been
left behind at Panga-ni: by no means satisfied with the excuse, he
signified that we might wander about the hills, and seek the plants
required.
After half an hour’s conversation, Hamdan being our interpreter, we were
dismissed with a renewal of welcome. On our return to the ‘Traveller’s
Bungalow,’ the present was forwarded to the Sultan with the usual
ceremony, and we found awaiting us a fine bullock, a basket full of
Sima—young Indian corn pounded and boiled to a hard, thick paste—and
balls of unripe bananas, peeled and mashed up with sour milk, thus
converting the fruit to a vegetable. Our Baloch at once addressed
themselves to the manufacturing of beef, and they devoured their steaks
with such a will that unpleasant symptoms presently declared themselves
in camp.
That day we had covered 10 miles, equal, perhaps, to 30 on a decent road
in a temperate clime. The angry blast, the dashing rain, and the
groaning trees, formed a concert which, heard from within a warm hut,
affected us pleasurably: I would not have exchanged it for the music of
Verdi. We slept sweetly, as only travellers can sleep.
-----
Footnote 36:
A delicate mercurial barometer (Adie), obligingly lent to me by the
Secretary of the Bombay Geographical Society, was left for comparison
at Zanzibar with the apothecary of the Consulate. On a rough mountain
tour such an instrument would certainly have come to grief, as it
afterwards did on the lowlands of the Continent. The instruments
recommended by the Medical Board, Bombay, did not reach us in time;
and the same was the case with the reflecting circle kindly despatched
by Mr Francis Galton. We had in all four bath thermometers, and two B.
Ps.; one used by Capt. Smyth, R. N., when crossing the Andes, was
given to us by Col. Hamerton; and another (Newman) was rendered
useless by mercury settling in the upper bulb, air having been
carelessly left in the tube by the maker—a frequent offence. We had no
sympiesometers. The instrument is portable, but the experience of
naval officers pronounces against it within the tropics, and
especially near the Line (6° to 8°), where its extreme sensitiveness
renders it useless. Aneroids also must be carried in numbers, and be
compared with standard instruments not so likely to be deranged: they
are seldom true, and are liable to vary when ascending or descending
the scale. My latest explorations have been made with glass tubes,
supplied by Mr Louis Casella, of Hatton Garden: they are portable, not
easily broken, and, best of all, they give correct results. Of course
it is well to carry aneroids for all except crucial stations; and as
for B. Ps., they are not worth the trouble of carrying.
Footnote 37:
Curious to say, M. Erhardt, who was certainly no mean linguist
(Conclusion to Dr Krapf’s Travels, pp. 500 and 504), has translated,
by some curious mistake, Kiboko crocodile, and Mamba hippopotamus. In
the latter error he is of course followed by Mr Cooley, who (Memoir on
the Lake Regions, p. 9) finds that I am ‘disingenuous’ in affecting to
be astonished that he translates Mamba by hippopotamus.
Footnote 38:
The banana is the Musa Sapientum: the plantain is the M. Paradisiaca,
and Linnæus picturesquely adopted Musa from the Arabic Mauz (موز): in
India the small species is called plantain, the large horse-plantain,
and the French term both ‘bananes.’ In E. Africa there are
half-a-dozen varieties of the ‘Ndizi.’
Footnote 39:
Heeren believes, with Pliny, that the ancients discovered diamonds
mingled with gold in certain N. African localities, especially Meroe.
Footnote 40:
Doenyo Mbúro, for instance, placed by Mr Wakefield south of the Salt
Lake Naivasha or Balibali.
Footnote 41:
Dr Krapf writes, ‘Simba wa Muene,’ i. e. the Lion is Himself, or the
Lion of the Self-Existent (God).
CHAPTER VIII.
THE MARCH BACK. THE HIPPOPOTAMUS’ HUNT.
THE RETURN TO ZANZIBAR.
‘Wasteful, forth
Walks the dire Power of pestilent disease.
A thousand hideous fiends her course attend,
Sick nature blasting, and to heartless woe
And feeble desolation, casting down
The towering hopes and all the pride of man.’
THE SEASONS.
The Anglo-African traveller, in this section of the 19th century, is an
over-worked professional. Formerly the reading public was satisfied with
dry details of mere discovery, and was delighted with a few longitudes,
latitudes, and altitudes. Of late in this, as in all other pursuits, the
standard has been raised. Whilst marching so many miles per diem, and
watching a certain number of hours per noctem, the traveller, who is, in
fact, his own general, adjutant, quartermaster, and commissariat
officer, is expected to survey and observe, to record meteorology and
trigonometry, to shoot and stuff birds and beasts, to collect geological
specimens and theories, to gather political and commercial information,
beginning, of course, with cotton; to advance the infant study
anthropology; to keep accounts, to sketch, to indite a copious, legible
journal—notes are now not deemed sufficient—and to forward long reports
which shall prevent the Royal Geographical Society napping through its
evenings.
It is right, I own, to establish a high standard, which ensures some
work being done; but explorations should be distinguished from common
journeys, and a broad line drawn between the possible and the
impossible. Before a march, when all my time was certain to be amply
occupied, an ardent gentleman once requested me to collect beetles, and
a second sent me recipes for preserving the tenantry of shells. Another
unconscionable physicist deemed it his duty to complain because I had
not used a sextant at Meccah, and yet another because I had not
investigated the hypsometry of Harar. It was generally asserted that my
humble studies of geography in the Lake Regions were of no importance,
because the latitudes and longitudes, not the descriptions of the
country, were the work of another hand. A bad attack of ophthalmia in
Sind, and a due regard for eyes which have to do the work of four
average pair, made me resolve, in 1849, never to use sextant or circle
except when there is an absolute necessity. A President of the Royal
Geographical Society wrote that I had done nothing for geography in
South America, after having, in one of my half-a-dozen journeys, through
the almost unexplored Sierra de San Luiz in the Argentine Republic,
inspected and described 1300 miles of a river certainly unknown to him
10 years ago. This meagre idea of geography, reducing a journey to a
skeleton of perfectly uninteresting ‘crucial stations,’ carefully laid
down by lunars, occultations, and other observations, and fitted only
for the humblest professional map-maker, seems to have taken root in the
Royal Geographical Society’s brain, since the days when that learned
body was presided over by Admiral Smyth. Volney never handled sextant;
yet see what Gibbon says of his labours. We may now hope to see all such
things changed.
These African explorations are campaigns on a small scale, wherein the
traveller, unaided by discipline, has to overcome all the troubles,
hardships, and perils of savage warfare. He must devote himself to
feeding, drilling, and showing his men the use of arms, and to the
conduct of a caravan, as well as study the barometer, and measure lunar
distances. The Missionaries, and all those best acquainted with the
country, did not approve of our making observations at Usumbara. The
sight of an instrument suggests to barbarians that the stranger is
bringing down the sun, stopping the rain, breeding a pestilence, or
bewitching the land; and the dazzle of a brass instrument awakes savage
cupidity. Such operations are sometimes impossible, and often, as in
North Africa, they are highly unadvisable. The climate and petite santé,
to say nothing of catarrh and jungle fever, also rob man of energy as
well as of health: he cannot, if he would, collect shells and beetles,
whilst the lightest geodesical labours not unfrequently, as these pages
show, end badly.
The rainy season had fairly set in at Fuga, though the half of February
had not elapsed. Heavy clouds rolled up from the South-West, and during
our two days and nights upon the bills the weather was a succession of
drip, drizzle, and drench. In vain we looked for a star—we were
compelled to leave Fuga after two nights, without a single observation:
even the sun of S. lat. 6° could not disperse the dense raw vapours that
rose from the steamy ground. I feared to linger longer in Usumbara. We
daily expected the inevitable ‘seasoning fever,’ the rains would make
the lowland a hot-bed of disease, and our men were not clad to resist
the cold—73° (F.) at 4 P. M., whilst upon the plains the mercury ranged
between 81° and 99°. In the dry monsoon this route might be made
practicable to Chaga and Kilima-njaro, both of which have been proposed
in the Anglo-Indian papers as Sanitaria. With an escort of a hundred
musketeers, and at an expense of £500, the invalid who desires to try
this African Switzerland may, if perfectly sound in wind, limb, and
digestion, reach, despite all the Wamasai, the snowy region, after 10
mountain-marches, which should not occupy more than a month. The next
century will see these conditions changed.
Finding it impossible to push farther into Usumbara, we applied
ourselves to gathering general information. Sultan Kimwere, I was told,
is the fourth of a dynasty of Tondeurs and Écorcheurs originally from
Ngu or Nguru, a hilly region to the West and South of the Upper Panga-ni
stream. His father, Shubugah, conquered Bondei and pushed the Usumbara
frontier from Pare Eastward to the sea and from Msihi (in M. Rebmann
Emsihi Mdi), a mountain two days’ march N. East of Fuga, to the Panga-ni
river and the Indian Ocean. He left Usumbara to Kimwere, Bumburri and
Meringa-mountain to younger sons, and Msihi to a favourite daughter:
this division of his dominions naturally caused lasting bloodshed
amongst his successors. Kimwere, in youth a warrior of fame, ranked
highest in the triumvirate of mountain-kings, the others being B’áná
Rongwa of Chaga and B’áná Kizungu of Ukwafi. In age he has lost ground.
His sister’s sons, the chiefs of Bungu in Msihi, rebelled, destroyed his
hosts by rolling down stones; they were reduced, and sent to the slave
market, only by the arms of 25 Baloch. The Wazegura, I have said, are
also troublesome neighbours. Kimwere has a body of 400 musketeers whom
he calls his Waengrezi or Englishmen: they are dispersed amongst the
villages, for now the oryx-horn is silent and the beacon is never
extinguished upon the mountain-passes. This ‘Lion of the Lord’ asserts
present kinghood in one point only: he has some 300 wives, each
surrounded by slaves and portioned with a hut and a plantation. His
little family amounts to between 80 and 90 sons, some of whom have
Islamized, whilst their sire remains a most ‘pragmatical pagan.’ The
Lion’s person is sacred,—even a runaway slave saves life by touching the
hem of his garment. Presently he will become a ghost, it will be wrapped
up in matting, and placed sitting-wise under the deserted hut, a stick
denoting the actual spot: dogs will be slaughtered for the
funeral-feast, the people will cry, beat drums, and say, ‘O Lord, why
must we die?’ and Muigni Khatib, reigning instead of his sire, will put
to death all who dare, during the first two months of Matanga
(mourning), to travel upon the King’s highway.
Meanwhile Sultan Kimwere rules at home like a right kingly African king,
by selling his subjects, men, women, and children, old and young, gentle
and simple, singly or, when need lays down the law, by families and by
villages. Death, imprisonment, and mutilation of the hand are foreign
articles of state machinery and rare; sale of the person and
confiscation of property are indigenous and common. None may hold
property without this petty despot’s permission, and, as we had an
opportunity of seeing, the very ‘ministers’ dare not openly receive
presents. In a realm where coin is not current revenue is thus
collected. Cattle-breeders contribute the first-fruits of their flocks
and herds; elephant-hunters offer every second tusk, and traders are
mulcted in a portion of their merchandise. Cultivators annually pay 10
measures of grain; hence the quantity exported from Tanga and Panga-ni
to Zanzibar and even to Arabia. The lion’s share is reserved for the
Lion and his family, the crumbs are distributed amongst the councillors
and the corps of guards (Waengrezi).
The ‘headquarter village’ of Usumbara is Fuga, situated in a cool
healthy climate, nearly 4500 feet upon the sea-line. The town is a heap
of some 500 huts, containing, I was told, in round numbers, 3000
souls.[42] It is forbidden to foreigners because the king’s wives
inhabit a part, and it also shelters the chief magician-priests, in
whose ‘lodges’ criminals may take sanctuary. The place is completely
defenceless and unwalled: the tenements are the circular habitations,
common to Inner Africa from Harar to Tinbuktu. Frameworks of concentric
wattle-rings wrapped round with plantain leaves are fastened to slender
uprights planted in the ground, and the inside is plastered over with
fine mud. A low solid door acts also as window, and the conical roof is
supported by a single central tree; a fire-place of stones distributes
smoke as well as heat, and a chimney would be held expensive and
uncomfortable. In some homesteads the semi-circle opposite the entrance
is occupied by a raised plank framework forming a family bedstead, and
in a few cases a kind of second half-story, like a magnified bunk, is
raised above it.
The Wasumbara are abundantly leavened with Semitic blood; and they
increase and multiply, to judge from the lodges capping every hill, and
from the younglings who apparently form more than the normal fifth. Yet
the Arabs declare that the women are not prolific, six children being a
large family: this, if fact, must be attributed to preventatives,
abortion, and infanticide. The snowy heads of the seniors show that
there are still in the land Macrobian Æthiopians, men who die of sheer
old age; and what else can be expected from human beings who have hardly
an idea, except the fear of sale, to impede digestion? The males, though
of light brown colour and stoutly made, are plain and short: they chip
their teeth to points like saws, cats, or crocodiles, and they brand a
circular beauty-spot in the mid-forehead. Their heads are shaven, their
feet are bare, and except talismans round the neck, wrist, and ankles,
their only wear is a sheet thrown over the shoulders, and a rag or skin
tied around the loins. The characteristic grass-kilt of the Bedawin of
the plains is unfitted for the highlands. A knife is stuck in the
waist-cord, and men walk abroad with pipe, bow, and quiverless arrows
tipped with bone or iron. The women are adorned with talismans in
leather bags, and with massive collars of white beads, now in fashion
throughout this region: a ‘distinguished person’ will carry from 3 to 4
lbs. of these barbaric decorations. The feminine body dress is the
hideous African sheet bound tightly under the arms and falling over the
bosom to the ankles.
The Wasumbara of both sexes are for Africans industrious, the result of
cold climate necessitating comparatively many comforts. The husband and
children work in the fields or drive the cattle to graze when the sun
has dried up the dew: towards evening they fence the animals in the
house yard, and stow away the young within the hut. At times they amuse
themselves with running down the little Saltiana antelopes, and with
throwing sticks at the guinea-fowls, which they have not yet learned to
domesticate. To the goodwife’s share falls the work of cleansing the
little corral, of fetching wood and water, of pounding maize in a large
tin mortar, of baking plantain-bread, of cooking generally, and of
carrying as well as of bearing the baby: it is evident that here, as
among the Mormons, division of labour is called for, and it is readily
supplied, without fear of arrest, by polygamy and concubinage. Meat is
considered a luxury; the cattle want the enlarged udder, that unerring
sign of bovine civilization, and an English cow will produce as much
fluid as half-a-dozen Africans. The deficiency of milk in pastoral lands
often excites the traveller’s wonder: at times, after the herds have
calved, he drinks it gratis by pailsful; during the rest of the year he
cannot buy a drop even for medicine. Most tribes, moreover, have some
uncomfortable superstitions about it—one will not draw it before
nightfall, another will not tamely stand by and see it heated. Moreover,
no pastoral people that I have ever seen drink it fresh: they prefer to
sour it artificially, instead of trusting to their gastric juices; and
they are right. It is like the Cuisinier or rather the Cordon bleue, who
vicariously does part of man’s digestion, whereas ‘Cook’ leaves all to a
certain ill-used viscus. I presume that climate is the reason why the
Dahi of India, the Laban of Arabia, has not been introduced into
England, where curds and whey are still eaten. Usumbara produces an
abundance of tobacco, whose flavour is considered superior to the other
growths of the mainland: it is therefore pounded to thin round cakes,
neatly packed in banana-leaves, and exported to Zanzibar. With all their
advantages, the Wasumbara are yet a moody, melancholy brood, a timid,
dismal, and ignoble race, as indeed are for the most part those
barbarians who have exchanged pastoral for agricultural life. Perhaps
these children of the mist have too much mist, and they certainly have
not learned the art of defending themselves against their raw mountain
air. In hot climates beware of the cold, and vice versâ.
On Monday, February 16, we took leave of, and were formally dismissed
by, Sultan Kimwere. The old man was mortified that our rambles over his
hills had not produced a plant of sovereign virtue against the last evil
but one of human life. He had long expected a white Mganga, and now two
had visited him, and were about to depart without an attempt to restore
his youth. I felt sad to see the wistful lingering look with which he
accompanied his Kua-heri—farewell (à tout jamais!) But his case was far
beyond my skill.
We set out at 7 A.M. on the next day with infinite trouble. The three
porters whom we had engaged had run away, characteristically futile,
without even claiming their hire, and none of Sultan Kimwere’s men had
the stomach to face the redoubtable Wazegura. The Baloch had gorged
themselves faint with beef, and the hide, the horns, and huge collops of
raw meat were added to the slaves’ loads. We descended the Pass in a
Scotch mist and drizzle, veiling every object from view, and it deepened
into a large-dropped shower upon the fetid lowlands. The effect of
exchanging 4000 for 1000 feet was anything but pleasant, and we at once
felt shorn of half our strength. That night we slept at Pasunga; the
next at Msiki Mguru, and the third, after marching 17 miles, our
greatest distance, at Kohode. Here the graceless Mamba allowed us to be
punted over the deep sullen stream by a slave upon a bundle of cocoa
fronds, to the imminent peril of our chronometers.
We now resolved to follow the river-course downwards, and to ascertain
by inspection if the account of its falls and rapids had been
exaggerated. At dawn Wazira came from our party, who had halted on the
other side of the river, and warned us that it was time to march, yet 9
A. M. had sped before the rugged line began to stretch over the plain.
Our Baloch declared the rate of walking excessive, and Hamdan, who
represented ‘Master Shoetie, the great traveller,’ asserted that he had
twice visited the Lake Regions of the far interior, but that he had
never seen such hardships in his dreams.
The route lay along the alluvial flat before travelled over: instead,
however, of turning towards the thinly-forested waste to the north, we
hugged the Rufu river’s left bank, and presently we entered familiar
land, broken red ground, rough with stones and thorns. Wazira declared
his life forfeited if seen by a Mzegura: with some trouble, however, we
coaxed him into courage, and we presently joined on the way a small
party bound for Panga-ni. At 1 P.M. we halted to bathe and drink, as it
would be some time before we should again sight the winding stream.
During the storm of thunder and lightning which ensued, I observed that
our savage companions, like the Thracians of Herodotus and the Bhils and
Kulis (Coolies) of modern India, shot their iron-tipped arrows in the
air. Such, perhaps, is the earliest, paratonnerre, preserved
traditionally from ages long forgotten by man, until the time when
Franklin taught him to disarm the artillery of heaven. Through splashing
rain and gusty, numbing wind, which made the slaves whimper, we threaded
by a goat-path the dripping jungle, and we found ourselves, about 4
P.M., opposite Kiranga, a large village of Wazegura, on the right bank
of the river. The people turned out with bows and muskets to feast their
eyes: all, however, were civil, and readily gave cocoas in exchange for
tobacco.
Here the Rufu is a strong stream, flowing rapidly between high curtains
of trees and underwood, and entering a rocky trough. The hill-roots
projected by Mount Tongwe are cut through by the course, and the narrow
ledges on both banks form the vilest footpaths. After leaving Kiranga,
we found the track slippery with ooze and mire, sprinkled with
troublesome thorn-trees, and overgrown with sedgy spear and tiger grass.
The air was damp and oppressive, ‘heavy’ (light) with steamy moisture;
the clouds seemed to settle upon earth, and the decayed vegetation
exhaled a feverish fetor. As we advanced, the roar of the swollen river
told of rapids, whilst an occasional glimpse through its wall of verdure
showed a rufous surface flecked with white foam. Massive nimbi purpled
the western skies, and we began to inquire somewhat anxiously of Wazira
if any settlement was at hand.
About sunset, after marching 15 miles, we suddenly saw tall cocoas, the
‘Travellers’ Joy’ in these lands, waving their feathery crests against
the blue eastern firmament. The tree inhabits chiefly the coralline
lowlands along the coast, but upon the line of the Panga-ni it bears
fruit at least 30 miles from the sea, and whenever it is found distant
from the stream the natives determine water to be near. Presently
crossing an arm of the river by a long wooden bridge made rickety for
ready defence, we entered with a flock of homeward-bound goats,
Kizungu,[43] an island-settlement of Wazegura. The Headmen assembled to
receive us with some ceremony, cleared a hut of its inmates, placed
cartels upon the ground outside, and seated us ringed round by a noisy
crowd for the usual palaver.
This village being upon the frontier and excited by wars and rumours of
wars, had a bad name, and suggested treachery to the Baloch. My
companion and I fired our revolvers into tree-trunks, and ostentatiously
reloaded them for the public benefit. The sensation was such that we
seized the opportunity of offering money for rice and ghi: no provision,
however, was procurable. Our escort went to bed supperless; Hamdan
cursing this _Safar Kháis_, Anglicè rotten journey; pretty Rahmat
weeping over his twisted mustachios, and Sha’aban smoking like the
chimney of a Hammam. Murad Ali had remained at Msiki Mguru to buy a
slave without our knowledge. No novice in such matters, he had yet
neglected to tie the chattel’s thumbs together, and on the evening after
the sale he had the exquisite misery to see his dollars bolting at a
pace which baffled pursuit. We should have fared meagerly had not one of
the elders brought furtively after dark a handful of red rice and an
elderly hen: this provaunt was easily despatched by these hungry men, of
whom one was a Portuguese ‘cook-boy.’ Then placing our weapons handy, we
were soon lulled to sleep, despite smoke, wet beds, chirping crickets,
and other plagues, by the blustering wind, and by the continuous
pattering of rain.
[Illustration: FALLS OF THE PANGA-NI RIVER.]
About sunrise on Friday, February 20, we were aroused by the guide, and
after various delays we found ourselves ‘on the tramp’ at 7 A.M. This
country traversed was the reflection of what we had passed through.
Hills girt the river on both sides, with black soil in the lower and red
clay in the upper levels, whilst the path was a mere line foot-worn over
rolling ground and thicketty torrent-beds, and through thorny jungle and
tall succulent tiger-grass.
At 9 A. M. we stood upon a distant eminence to view the Falls of the
Panga-ni, of which we had read a hearsay description in the pages of Lt
Boteler. It somewhat suggested the Torc Cascade of guide-books. The
stream, swiftly emerging from a dense dark growth of tropical jungle,
hurls itself in three separate sheets, fringed with flashing foam, down
a rugged wall of brown rock. The fall is broken by a midway ledge,
whence a second leap precipitates the waters into a lower basin of
mist-veiled stone, arched over by a fog-rainbow, the segment of a circle
painted with faint prismatic hues. The spectacle must be grander during
the wet season, when the river, forming a single horseshoe, acquires
volume and momentum enough to clear the step that splits the now
shrunken supply; in fact,
‘When copious rains have magnified the stream
Into a loud and white-robed waterfall.’
Of all natural objects the cataract most requires that first element of
sublimity—size. Yet, as it is, the Panga-ni Falls, with the white spray
and light mist, set off by a background of black jungle and by a
framework of slaty rain-cloud, offer a picture sufficiently effective to
save us from disappointment.
As we jogged onwards the heat became intense. The clouds lay close upon
the cool mountain-tops: there it was winter, but the fount of life, the
Soter Kosmou, the grand differentiator between Africa and Greenland,
whose rays shot stingingly through the well-washed air, still parched
the summer plains. At 10 A. M. our Baloch, clean worn-out by famine and
fatigue, threw themselves upon the bank of a broad deep Nullah, in whose
rushy and jungly bed a little water still lingered. Wild bees had hived
in the tree-trunks, but none of us coveted the fate of plundering bears.
The bush was rich in the ‘Melon of Abu Jahl’ (Coloquintida), and the
slaves chewed the dried pulp of the calabash gourd. Half-an-hour’s rest,
a cocoa-nut each, a pipe, and above all things the spes finis, somewhat
restored our vigour. We resumed the march over a rolling waste of thin
green grass, enlivened by occasional glimpses of the river, whose very
aspect tempered the optic nerves and cooled the brain. Villages became
numerous as we advanced, far distancing our Baloch, and at 3 P.M., after
14 miles, we sighted the snake-fence and the penthouses of friendly
Chogwe. The Jemadar and his garrison received us with all the honours of
travel, and marvelled at our speedy return from Fuga, where, as at
Harar, a visitor can never reckon upon prompt dismissal. Sultan Kimwere
has detained Arab and other travellers a whole fortnight before his
Mganga would fix upon a fit time for audience.
Our feet were cut by hard boots and shoes, that had more than once been
wetted and dried; and wherever there was chafing or burning, we had lost
‘leather’ softened by constant perspiration. A few days of rest and
simple remedies, white of egg and flour-powdering, removed these small
inconveniences. Our first move was to Panga-ni, where Said bin Salim,
who had watched his charge with the fidelity of a shepherd’s dog,
received us with joyous demonstrations. The Portuguese lad who
accompanied us escaped with a few sick headaches, and we were happy to
find his confrère free from African fever. After spending a day upon the
seaboard, we returned, provided with munitions de bouche and other
necessaries, to Chogwe. Here we paid the bill—$20 to the Jemadar in
consideration of his two slaves; $5 a piece to the three hardworking
portion of our Baloch, and to the drones, old Sha’aban and the lady like
Rahmat, $4 and $3 respectively. Then, as the vessel in which we were to
cruise southward was not expected from Zanzibar before the beginning of
March, and we had a week to spare, it was resolved to try a fall with
Behemoth.
The hippopotamus, called by the Wasawahili Kiboko and Mvo, and by the
Arabs Bakar el Khor, ‘the creek-bullock,’ resembles a mammoth pig, with
an equine head, rather than a horse or a cow. Like the mangrove, he
loves the rivers and inlets where fresh water mingles with the briny
tide, and, as on this coast he has been little molested, he is
everywhere to be met with. In the Bights of Benin and Biafra, during
three years’ wanderings, I sighted but a single specimen, and that only
for a minute. When the night falls he wriggles up one of the many runs
on the river bank, and wanders far to graze upon fat rich grass and to
plunder grain plantations, where, like the elephant and the hog, he does
much more damage than is necessary. At dawn he exchanges the dangerous
open for shelter in the deep pools—the Khund of India—which as here, for
instance, succeed one another in the stream-bed like the beads of a
chaplet, and the place which he prefers is called by the natives his
‘house.’ In the presence of man he remains at home, fearing to expose
his person while passing over the shallow covering of the sand-ridges
which divide the hollows. When undisturbed he may be seen plunging
porpoise-like against the stream, basking where the water is warm and
not deep, dozing upon the soft miry bank, or sheltering himself under
the luxuriant rhizophoræ in groups and singly, the heavy boxhead resting
upon a friend’s broad stern. On terra firma he is easily killed by the
puny arrow and by the tripping-trap with its spike-drop: in the water he
is difficult to shoot, and unless harpooned he is scarcely to be bagged.
Thoroughly startled, he exposes above the surface only his eyes and
sloping brow; after a shot he will remain below for hours, raising
nothing but a nostril to supply himself with air, and slipping down the
moment he sights his foe. Receiving the death-wound, he sinks, and,
according to the people, he clings to the bottom: he reappears only when
blown up by incipient decomposition, and unless scouts are stationed,
the body will rarely be found. The Arabs and Baloch declare that a
trifling wound eventually proves fatal to the unwieldy form,—the water
enters it, and the animal cannot leave the stream to feed. All Easterns,
however, joining issue with the homœopathists, dread applying water to a
wound, and the Brazilian Tupys used to cure their hurts by toasting them
and by extracting the moisture before the fire. The people of Mafiyah
secure him, I am told, by planting upright a gag of sharpened and
hardened stick in his jaws when opened wide for attack: this improbable
tale is also told concerning the natives of Kalybia and the Maidan Arabs
of Assyria and their lions. The cow is timid unless driven beyond
endurance or grossly insulted in the person of her calf: the bulls are
more pugnacious, especially those who, expelled by the herd, live in
solitary dudgeon. The ‘rogue’—generally derived from the Hindostani
‘rogi,’ sick or sorry—is found amongst hippopotami, elk, deer, and other
graminivors as well as amongst elephants, lions, tigers, and the larger
carnivors. The ‘rogue’ hippopotamus is an old male no longer able to
hold his own against the young adults, who naturally walk off with his
harem, and leave him in the surliest state of widowerhood. The
man-eating lion is mostly some decrepit beast that finds it easier for
his stiff muscles and worn tusks to pull down a human biped than a wild
bull or an antelope. It was probably a rogue hippopotamus that caused
the death of Menes, ancient king, and the modern Africans from Abyssinia
southwards still lose many a life. Captain Owen’s officers when
ascending these streams had their boats torn by Behemoth’s hard teeth.
In the Panga-ni river ‘Sultan Mamba,’ a tyrant of the waters, thus
dubbed by the Baloch in honour of their friend the Kohode chief,
delighted to upset canoes in rude waggishness, and once broke a negro’s
leg. For this reason men were careful to skirt the banks by day when he
was supposed to be in mid-stream, and to avoid them during the dark
hours when he was scrambling up and down the sides. During a subsequent
battue off Wale Point we had two accidents in one day; a dugout was
smashed by a blow with the Kiboko’s forehand, and the corvette’s gig,
suddenly uplifted upon the tusk-points, showed a pair of corresponding
holes in her bottom.
Behold us now, O brother in St Hubert! merrily dropping down stream in a
monoxyle some 40 feet long, at early dawn, when wild beasts are
hungriest and tamest. The Jemadar and his brother, cloaked in scarlet
and armed with their slow matchlocks, sit in the stern; the polers,
directed by Sidi Bombay, who is great in matters of venerie, occupy the
centre, and we take up our station in the bows. The battery consists of
a shot-gun for experiments, a Colt’s rifle, and two ‘smashers,’ each
carrying a 4 oz. ball of zinc-hardened lead. The mise en scène is
perfect: the bright flush of morning, the cool, clear air, the river,
with its broad breast swelling between two rows of tall luxuriant trees,
and, protruding from the mirrory surface, the black box-heads, flanked
with small pointed ears, and not a little resembling the knight in old
chessmen. When swimming up stream the beasts threw up the hind legs, and
plunged with the action of a porpoise. As we approached them the boatmen
indulged in loud and ribald vituperations, such as ‘M’áná Maríra,’ O big
belly! ‘Hana ’mkía,’ O tailless one! and ‘Limundi,’ which was not
explained. These insults caused them to raise their crests in angry
curiosity, and to expose their arched necks of polished black, shining
with the trickling rills, which caught like quicksilver the reflection
of the sun.
My companion, a man of speculative turn, experiments upon the nearest
optics with buckshot and two barrels of grape, for which we had a mould.
The eyes, however, are obliquely placed; the charge scatters, and the
brute, unhurt, slips down like a seal. This will make the herd wary.
Vexed by the poor result of our trial, we pole up the rippling and
swirling surface that shows the enemy to be swimming under water towards
the further end of a deep pool. Our guns are at our shoulders; we know
that, after a weary time, he must rise and breathe. As the smooth water
undulates, swells, and breaks a way for the large square head, eight
ounces of lead fly in the right direction. There is a splash, a
struggle; the surface foams, and Behemoth, with open mouth like a
butcher’s stall, and bleeding like a gutter-spout, plunges above the
surface. Wounded in the cerebellum, he cannot swim straight, he cannot
defend himself. I thought how easy it would have been, but for the
crocodiles, to have done with him as the late Gordon Cumming did, and
related amidst universal incredulity. In such matters the reader
unconsciously asks himself ‘Could I?’ A negative is instinctively
suggested, and hence his belief revolts at the story—spernit et odit.
But all men cannot—in fact, very few men can—boast the eye, the nerve,
and muscle of glorious Gordon Cumming.
Returning to Kiboke, the Baloch are excited, and as the game rises
again, matchlocks bang dangerously as pop-guns. Presently the Jemadar,
having expended three bullets—a serious consideration with your Oriental
pot-hunter—retires from the contest, as we knew he would, recommending
the beasts to us. Bombay punches on the boatmen, who complain that a
dollar a day does not justify their facing death. At last a coup de
grâce, speeding through the ear, finds out the small brain; the brute
sinks, fresh gore purples the surface, and bright bubbles seethe up from
the bottom. Hippo. has departed this life: we wait patiently for his
reappearance, but he reappears not. At length Bombay’s sharp eye detects
a dark object some hundred yards down stream: we make for it, and find
our ‘bag’ brought up in a shallow by a spit of sand, and already in
process of being ogled by a large fish-hawk. The fish-hawk pays the
penalty of impudence. We tow the big defunct to the bank, and deliver it
to a little knot of savages, who have flocked down to the stream with
mouths watering at the prospect of creek-bullock beef. The meat is
lawful to Moslems of the Shafei school; others reject it, as, being
amphibious, it is impure. In Abyssinia they commonly eat it; here they
do not. The insufferable toughness and coarseness, to say nothing of the
musky bouquet, do not recommend it to Europeans. The Washenzi, however,
will feast royally, grease themselves with the dripping, and at sundown
bring us, according to agreement, the tusks, teeth, and skull, picked
clean as a whistle is said to be. The teeth, especially of young
animals, being delicately white and conical, make the prettiest handles
for knives.
The herd no longer rises; the beasts fear this hulking craft. We must
try some other plan. My companion, accompanied by Bombay, who strips to
paddle, in token of warm work expected, shifts to a small canoe, lashes
fast his shooting tackle to the seat, in case of an upset, and whilst I
occupy one end of the ‘house,’ makes for the other. Whenever a head
appears an inch above water, a heavy bullet ‘puds’ into or near it;
crimson patches marble the stream; some die and disappear, others plunge
in crippled state; while others, disabled from diving by holes drilled
through their snouts, splash and scurry about with curious snorts,
caused by the breath passing through the wounds. At last the small canoe
ventures upon another experiment. A baby hippo., with the naïveté
natural to his age, uprears his crest, doubtless despite the maternal
warning: off flies the crown of the little kid’s head. The bereaved
mother rises for an instant, viciously regards the infanticide, who is
quietly loading, snorts a parent’s curse, and dives as the cap is being
adjusted. Presently a bump, a shock, and a heave, and the bows of the
barque are high in the air. Bombay, describing a small parabola, lands
in frog-position upon the enraged brute’s back. My companion steadies
himself in the stern; happily the Kiboko had not struck out with the
forearm, nor torn off the gunwale with her mighty jaws: he sends a ball
through her sides as, with broad dorsum hunched up and hogged, like an
angry cat, she advances for a second bout. Bombay scrambles into the
monoxyle, and nothing daunted, paddles towards the quarry, which funks
and bolts till nothing is visible but a long, waving line of gore. With
a harpoon we might have secured it; now it will feed, with ‘speck’ and
musky meat, the Washenzi or the crocodiles.
Our most artful dodge was, however, to come. The Baloch have ceased
firing, confessing their matchlocks to be no ‘good,’ but they force the
boatmen to obey us, and they take great interest in the sport, as
Easterns will when they see work well done. My companion lands with his
black woodman carrying both smashers: they grope painfully through
mangrove-thicket where parasitical oysters wound the legs with their
sharp edges, and where the deep mud and shaking bog admit a man to the
knees. After a time, reaching a clear spot, they take up a position
where the bush-screened bank impends the deepest water, and signal me to
drive the herd. The latter, after rubbing their backs against the big
canoe, rise to breathe; I hoist a scarlet cloth upon a tall pole, and
the beasts, inquisitive as kangaroos, expose themselves to gratify a
silly curiosity. My companion has two splendid standing shots, and the
splashing and circling in the stream below tell the accuracy of his aim.
The dodge was suggested by seeing antelope thus arrested in their
flight, and by remembering the red whirligigs with bits of mirror, used
in former years by the French chasseur to kill hares.
Whilst in the pursuit of the animals that were retiring to the other end
of the pool, I saw a hole bursting in the stream close to the bows of
the canoe, and a dark head of portentous dimensions rose with a snort, a
grunt, and a spirt. Mamba! Mamba! shout the Baloch, and yet the old
rogue disdains to flinch or fly. A cove from the Colt strikes him full
in the front; his brain is pierced, he rises high, he falls with a crash
upon the wave, and all that hulking flesh cannot keep in a little life.
Sultan Mamba has for ever disappeared from the home of the hippopotamus:
never shall he bully canoe-men, never shall he break nigger’s leg again.
We soon learned the lesson that these cold-blooded beasts may be killed
with a pistol ball, if hit in the right place,—under the shoulder for
the heart, and in the ear for the remarkably small brain, whose pan is
strongly boxed in. Otherwise they carry as much lead as elephants. By 10
A. M. we had slain six, besides wounding I know not how many of the
animals. They might be netted, but the operation would not pay in a
pecuniary sense: the ivory of small teeth, under 4 lbs. each, is worth
little. Moreover, the herds are apt to shift quarters after an excess of
bullying, and are normally shy when exposed to the perpetual popgunning
of the Baloch. Even the vulture is absent—a bad sign. We did not often
return to this sport, finding the massacre monotonous, and such
cynegetics little more exciting than pheasant shooting.
Our first partie concluded with a bath in the Panga-ni, which here has
natural ‘bowers for dancing and disport,’ fit for Diana and her suite:
in these unclassical lands they are haunted, not by fairies, but by
monkeys. About a dwarf creek trees cluster on three sides of a square,
regularly as if planted, and rope-like creepers, the West African
tie-tie, bind together the supporting stems and hang a curtain to the
canopy of imperious sylvan shade. The consumptive Jemadar suffered
severely from the sun; he still, however, showed some ardour for sport.
‘A mixture of a lie,’ says Bacon bluntly, ‘doth ever add to pleasure.’
There was abundant amusement in the little man’s grandiloquent
romancing; a hero and a Rustam he had slain his dozens; men quaked—in
far Balochistan—at the mention of his name; his sword-blade never fell
upon a body without cutting it in twain, and, ’faith, had he wielded it
as he did his tongue, the weapon would indeed have been deadly. At
Panga-ni he had told us all manner of F. M. Pinto tales concerning the
chase at Chogwe, and his pal, an old Mzegura woodsman, had promised us
elephants, giraffes, and wild cattle. But when we pressed the point our
guide shirked the trial; his son was absent, war raged in the clan, his
family wanted provisions: he was ever coming on the morrow, and—the
morrow never came. This convinced me that the tale of game in the dry
season was apocryphal. Chogwe then offered few attractions, and we left
the bazar on Thursday, Feb. 26: my companion walked to Panga-ni, making
a route-survey, whilst the Jemadar and his tail escorted me in the large
canoe.
This trial trip to Fuga, which covered 150 miles in 11 days, had
supplied me with a fair budget of experience and had drawn my attention
to an important point, namely, the difference between our distances and
those of M. Erhardt’s map. Whilst we placed the head-quarter village 37
miles in direct line, and along the devious path 74 or 75, he gave the
measures respectively as 82 and 100. Hence I was led to question all the
distances in the remote parts: the road between Mombasah and
Kilima-njaro had already been reduced from 200 to 130 miles; and, to
judge from analogy, a little further subtraction might be applied. Our
longest march was only 17 miles: after 4 days’ continued work the slaves
were dead-beat; our escort, who carried only their weapons, murmured
loudly at our habits, and the Panga-ni people considered the rate of
walking excessive. Without measuring instruments or the habit of correct
timing, it is difficult to estimate distance. Some years afterwards,
when ascending the Cameroons Mountain, I found, by taping, 11,570 feet
to be the length of a march, which the whole party had set down at the
lowest estimate as five miles. Twenty miles in a tropical sun, without
water and over rough ground, where the step is shortened, will appear 40
in Europe, whilst the hour’s halt seems but a few minutes.[44]
For two days after returning to Panga-ni we abstained from taking
exercise. On the third we walked out several miles East along the shore,
and N. West inland, under the hottest of suns and over burning ground,
to explore a cavern, or rather a tunnel in the limestone rock of which
the natives, who came upon it when clearing out a well, had circulated
the most exaggerated accounts. My companion already complained of his
last night’s labour, an hour with the sextant upon damp sands in the
chilly dew. This excursion finished the work. On entering the house we
found Caetano, who had accompanied us to Fuga, suffering from aches in
the shoulders and a cold sensation creeping up the legs. Such sensations
heralded the fever, a malignant bilious remittent like ‘General Tazo’ of
Madagascar: as on the Niger, this ‘acclimatizing fever’ usually appears
before the 16th day. My companion was prostrated a few hours afterwards,
and next day I followed their example. Valentino, who escaped at
Panga-ni, came in for his turn at Zanzibar; and, as a proof that the
negro enjoys no immunity, Sidi Bombay suffered severely in early June.
I have no doubt that had Dr Steinhaeuser been with us, or had we been
acquainted with the prophylactic treatment of quinine, first developed
by the later Niger expeditions, and afterwards practised by myself with
so much success on the West Coast of Africa, we should have escaped with
a light visitation instead of dangerous and almost deadly attacks. But
we had also imprudently taxed strength and endurance to the utmost,
before our constitutions had been accustomed to the climate. As a rule,
the traveller in these lands should at first avoid exposure and fatigue
beyond a certain point to the very best of his ability. He might as well
practise sitting upon a coal fire as hardening himself to the
weather—which green men have attempted. Dr Bialloblotsky, a Polish
professor who had begun travelling at the end of a long life of
sedentary study, would practise walking bare-headed in the Zanzibar sun:
the result was congestion of the brain. Others have paced bare-footed
upon an exposed terrace, with ulceration of the legs and temporary
lameness, as the total results. The most successful in resisting the
miasma are they who tempt it the least, and the best training for a long
hungry march in these lands is repose with good living. Man has then
stamina to work upon: he may exist, like the camel, upon his own fat.
Those who fine themselves down by exercise and abstinence before such
journeys commit the error of beginning where they ought to end.
We spent no happy time in the house of the Wali Meriko, who, luckily for
us, was still absent at Zanzibar. The Jemadar, seeing that we could do
nothing, took leave, committing us to Allah and to Said bin Salim. The
Banyans intended great civility; they would sit with us for hours,
asking, like Orientals, the silliest of questions, and thinking withal
that they were making themselves agreeable. Repose was out of the
question. During the day gnats and flies added another sting to the
horrors of fever: by night rats nibbled our feet; mosquitos sang their
songs of triumph; and torturing thirst made the terrible sleeplessness
yet more terrible. Our minds were morbidly fixed upon one point, the
arrival of our vessel: we had no other occupation but to rise and gaze,
and to exchange regrets as a sail hove in sight, drew near, and passed
by. We knew that there would be no failure on the part of our thoughtful
friend, who had written to promise us a ‘Batela’ on March 1. But we
doubted the possibility of an Arab or an Msawahili doing anything in
proper time. The craft had been duly despatched from Zanzibar before the
end of February, but the fellows who manned her being men of Tumbatu,
could not pass their houses unvisited,—they wasted a precious week, and
they did not make Panga-ni till the evening of March 5.
After sundry bitter disappointments, we had actually hired a Banyan’s
boat that had newly arrived, when the long-expected ‘Batela’ ran into
the river. Not a moment was to be lost. Said bin Salim, who had been a
kind of nurse, superintended the embarkation of our belongings. My
companion, less severely treated, was able to walk to the shore; but
I—alas, for manliness!—was obliged to be supported like a bed-ridden old
woman. The Arabs were civil, and bade us a friendly farewell. The
Wasawahili, however, audibly contrasted the present with the past, and
drew indecorous conclusions from the change which a few days had worked
in the man who bore a 24 lb. gun with a 4 ounce ball.
All thoughts of cruising along the southern coast were thus at an end.
Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton had cautioned us not to despise bilious
remittents, and evidently we should not have been justified in
neglecting his advice to return to the consulate whenever seized by
sickness. With the dawn of Friday, March 6, we ordered the crew to up
sail: we stood over for the island with a fine fresh breeze, and early
in the afternoon we found ourselves once more within the pale of eastern
civilization. Our excellent friend at once sent us to bed, where we
remained for the best part of a week: we did not recover health till the
end of the normal month.
-----
Footnote 42:
Mr Cooley (Inner Africa Laid Open, p. 75) calls in Vuga, and gravely
chronicles the valuable observation of ‘Khamis’ his ‘intelligent
Sawáhili,’ who made it three times as large as the town of Zanzibar.
He confounds (p. 63) with Dos Santos (History of Eastern Æthiopia,
iii. 1), through 8° of distance, Karagwah or Karague with Gurague in
Abyssinia, Gurague meaning the left hand to one looking westward, and
thus corresponding with the Arabic El Sham (Syria or Damascus). We
also find (p. 55) Sadána for Sa’adani, and Wadóa for Wadoe.
Footnote 43:
It is mentioned by Dr Krapf as ever having been occupied by the
Portuguese. Mr Cooley (Inner Africa, &c., p. 34) modestly writes,
‘Kisúngo, more probably Kisonga.’
Footnote 44:
The German missionaries placed the Tanganyika Lake 600 direct
geographical miles from the sea: I reduced the distance to 300. This
was an error. But we had been told upon the coast that the Sea of
Unyamwezi is in Unyamwezi, and the easternmost frontier of the latter
region at Tura is distant 290 direct geographical miles from the
seaboard of Zanzibar.
CHAPTER IX.
VISIT TO SA’ADANI, THE COPAL FIELD.
Non cuivis lectori auditorique placebo:
Lector et auditor non mihi quisque placet.
A heroic treatment of quinine, beginning with 20-grain doses, and ending
with two grains, per diem, and a long course of stomachic chiretta—the
Kirait which the Goanese drink, flavoured with lime juice, every Sunday
before church—induced a convalescence, accompanied by the usual
unpleasant sequelæ. The S. West or rainy monsoon, which came in like a
lion, had improved my health, but it detained the Expedition at
Zanzibar. We utilized the delay by buying outfit, which for economy must
be provided before the opening of the trading season; by making
arrangements for an escort, and by looking to the hundred impedimenta
which appertain to African exploration.
Yet I was possessed by a nervous impatience to be up and doing. During
the year of grace 1867 it was proposed to penetrate into the Eastern and
Central Regions from all directions. The Escayrac de Lauture enterprise
has been already mentioned. Zanzibar also expected an American
Expedition. A Major Cotheal, of New York, had visited the coast in his
own vessel, with the view of pushing into the interior. Like his many
predecessors—Captain Smee for instance—he failed to find the debouchure
of the Denok, Vumbo, Gob, Gob-wen, Juba, Webbe Ganana, Govind, Dos
Fuegos or Rogues[45] River, which forms the true northern limit of
continental Zanzibar, dividing inland the Galla from the Somal, and
which the hydrographers have placed in S. lat. 0° 14′ 30″, thus nearly
corresponding parallel with the Gaboon. But he had observed a
discolouration of the sea, which raised his hopes of being able to
measure and survey the mysterious outlet. Despite the labours of Lieut.
Christopher, there is still an abundance of work to be done about the
embouchures and more upon the upper courses of the ‘Nile of Makdishu’
(Webbe Gamana) and the Juba (Webbe Ganana); whilst the sad loss of Baron
von der Decken only increases our curiosity about the latter stream. It
is doubtful, even in the present day, whether the mouth of the Juba is
dry in the rainless season or not. Major Cotheal’s prospects were kept
dark: it was, however, understood that the party would be composed of
white men accustomed to endure fatigue and to face danger, escorted by
free blacks from the United States, and by natives of the country as
guides and porters. All scientific researches and even exact
observations were to be postponed, lest they should impede progress:
this manner of exploration, which would find scant favour in English
eyes, is evidently best fitted to open a way for the physicist through
unexplored and possibly dangerous regions. I never doubted that the
Anglo-American, familiar with the negro race from his infancy, and
strong in nervous temperament, carrying little flesh and comparatively
abstemious, would be the best of African explorers, and my subsequent
experiences on the west coast of Africa in the Bights of Benin and
Biafra, from Cape Palmas to the Gaboon river, have confirmed the belief.
Major Cotheal’s exploration, however, was fated to remain in limbo.
An expedition was also proposed at the Cape of Good Hope on a plan
recommended by the lamented naturalist, Professor Wahlberg. Several
waggons starting simultaneously would separate upon the threshold of the
tropics, and, after exploring eastward and westward, would rendezvous at
a given place, and confer upon the ways and means of further advance.
Nothing appeared more feasible than such a prospect, and the brilliant
success of Messrs Livingstone, Murray, and Oswell, then fresh in the
public mind, had proved that intertropical Africa could be penetrated
with less fatigue and risk of disease from the Cape than from any other
point. Dr Wahlberg, however, was killed by an elephant, and his plan was
allowed to lie in nubibus.
We left for the interior before Zanzibar Island was visited by the Père
Léon d’Avanchers, whose name has since become familiar to geographers:
en revauche I met M. Gabrielli de Rivalta, a capuchin of the Lyons
Mission, who was proceeding to his head-quarters, the before
inaccessible Kaffa country. He had lately learned at Rome that four or
five other missioners would be sent to reap the unparalleled harvest
reported by Monsignor Guglielmo Massaga, the Vicario Apostolico dei
Gallas, who had made that place his home, and who had sent branch
establishments to Enarea and Goodroo. Some 40,000 pagans had, it was
asserted, embraced Christianity, and conversions were still taking place
in legions. Unable to enter Africa viâ Masawah, on account of the
religious excitement that burned high amongst the Abyssinians, Father
Gabrielli resolved to land at Makdishu, and to march upon Ganana,
travelling alone and unarmed, amongst the fiercest tribes of East
Africa, the Gallas, and the Somal. The successes which have crowned the
efforts of Catholic missioners in these eastern regions reflect honour
upon their system, and cast a deep shade upon the desultory
individualistic display of Protestant energy. On the West Coast of
Africa, however, I found that both had equally and completely failed.
At length, strength and energy returning, I resolved once more to visit
the coast, and to collect information upon certain interesting subjects,
concerning which the Secretary of the Bombay Geographical Society had
(Dec. 8, 1856) forwarded to Government the following remarks:—
‘It will be eminently interesting to know whether the great limestone
formation, extending in one vast continuous band from the banks of the
Burrumputra to those of the Tagus, and from which Captain Burton
forwarded valuable specimens from the Somali country, prevails as far
south as the Line, and to what distance it extends into the interior. It
will be desirable to ascertain whether the upheaved sea-beach, such as
that which forms the esplanade, and is the favourite habitat of the
cocoa-nut groves around, prevails along the shores of Africa, and
whether, if so, it manifests those signs of a double depression or
upheaval which characterize it in most parts of the world.... Of the
£300,000 worth of commerce between Eastern Africa and Western India—the
principal part being that of Zanzibar—gums and resin-trees form an
important part, nearly £20,000 worth being exported from Zanzibar. The
most valuable of these are copal and gum Animi, the principal supplies
being found under-ground, from which they are washed out by streams and
torrents. Like the Dammer of Singapore, and some of the most important
gum resins of Australia, they may be regarded as semi-fossils, the
produce of forests which have long since disappeared.... We should like
to know whether the _Valeria Indica_, which produces it, still abounds
as a tree; as also what may have been the extent, what the position and
circumstances of the extinct forests, of which it now constitutes the
principal trace.... Copal has of late years become so scarce, so much in
demand, and so dear, that what was formerly thrown away would probably
be considered of value in the market; and there are few of the
investigations a traveller can undertake the people of England value so
highly as those that can be turned to commercial account. Materially to
reduce the price of coach-varnish would probably be considered to
entitle Captain Burton to a larger share of the gratitude of his
countrymen than the measurement of the elevation of the Mountains of the
Moon or the Determination of the Sources of the Nile.’[46]
On May 11, accompanied by Sidi Bombay and by Said bin Salim, with his by
no means merry men, I set out in the ‘Mtope’ (the Mud), a small Machua
manned by the slaves of Mr Banyan Ramji. Running before a fair wind, and
‘rushed’ by an occasional raffale, we crossed in five hours the Manche
that separates Zanzibar from Sa’adani, a trading port on the Continent,
nearly parallel with the northern cape of the Island. The settlement is
not seen till within the shortest distance, when the mangroves disclose
it. The landing-place is bad; if the water is out small craft must lie
about half-a-mile from the shore; at flood-tide they round a small
sandspit, and enter the shallow, rushy Khor (bay), which passes the
settlement. Passengers then disembark in canoes. The site of the village
is frontier-land: to the north are the Wazegura savages, and southward,
behind ‘Utondwe,’ lie the Wadoe, who are reported by all to have learned
cannibalism during their wars with the Wakamba.[47] I should say ‘lay’:
these Wadoe have of late years been driven away from their ancient seats
by the Wamasai, and like the Waboni, they have occupied the lands on the
north bank of the Adi or Sabaki river. The Wakamba, again, have been
expelled, and the Wazeramo, a fierce and unmanageable tribe, has now
transferred itself to the interior. The point or headland bounding the
bay southwards, and giving a name to the little maritime province whose
southern limit is Whinde (Uende of M. Rebmann), is still known as
Utondwe, and is said to show ruins of habitations. Thus Watondwi, which
Mr Cooley translates ‘picking-grounds,’ i. e. places where shell-fish
are gathered, would mean the people of Utondwe. Nothing can be more
misleading than such expressions as ‘the kingdom of Atondo,’ used by Do
Couto and others. These royalties are mere districts ruled by petty
headmen, of which each port-village has one, potent within their own
bounds or palisades, but powerless a mile beyond them. They correspond
with the River Kings and Hill Kings of Guinea, the ridiculous King Jacks
and King Boys of the Western Coast—both degraded by intercourse with
superior races, these with Europeans, those with the Arabs. ‘Otondo’ is
mentioned in the Portuguese inscription over the fort gate of Mombasah;
and in 1528 its Shaykh came to the assistance of Nuno da Cunha with five
or six thousand black archers, probably slaves and savages, who are
described as very agile and trained to war.
Sa’adani stands upon a swampy green flat, defended, as are most of these
places, against the sea, which is apparently but little below its level,
by a high sandbank and natural dykes. From Panga-ni, southward, the
littoral suddenly falls flat, becoming an alluvial plain of green
swamps, cut by hundreds of mangrove creeks: it is backed by higher
ground, the blue line seen from Zanzibar Island, and the habitat of the
wilder races. The harbours are mostly open roads or inlets, into which
only native craft can run, whilst square-rigged ships must lie three
miles in the offing, and much exposed. The deeper water abounds in fish,
and the tides retire 12 to 13 feet, leaving a broad expanse of naked
mud. Constant troubles with neighbours have caused this port-village to
be surrounded by a strong stockade of tree-trunks, and have greatly
reduced its extent. The hundred huts of thatch, wattle and dab, may now
contain 700 to 800 souls, including a Banyan, a Kasimi Arab, and a stray
Baloch: a few years ago it could turn out 300 matchlocks. The two stone
mosques, which the people declare to be ancient, are in ruins. Here the
Wasawahili, who in a thin fringe line the whole coast, appear to be
healthier than on the Island of Zanzibar. As usual, there is less rain,
and the little Msika is often wanting. They send at all seasons foot
caravans to Nguru—the Ngu of M. Rebmann—a hilly region seven to eight
days’ march, nearly due west. The normal ventures are beads, cloth, and
wires, and the returns are ivory and slaves, with smaller items, such as
rhinoceros’ horn and various hides. The trading parties are absent about
six weeks, when no news of them will be held good news: formerly the
wild Wanguru used to visit the coast, till deterred by Moslem ‘Avanies.’
The village exports sheep and ghi, holcus, maize, and especially copal.
A little cotton (pamba) for domestic use is grown on the sandy landward
slope of the natural dyke, about one mile from the sea: the shrub is
allowed to run to wood. A few words upon cotton-growing in Zanzibar and
East Africa generally may not be misplaced here.
The mountains of Harar, that ancient capital of the Adel Empire, are a
granitic mass covered with red argillaceous soil: they produce in plenty
a fine, long-stapled, firm and heavy cotton, with peculiarly flexible
and tenacious filament. Yarn is hand-spun by the women with two wooden
bobbins, and the primitive loom is worked by both sexes: the result is a
cloth, warm and soft as silk, which surpasses in beauty and durability
the vapid produce of our power-looms, as much as the perfect hand of man
excels the finest machinery. The ‘Tobe’ of Harar consists of a double
length of 11 × 2 cubits, with a bright scarlet border, and the value of
a good article even in the city is $8. The laziness of the people and
the risks of the journey, 15 days of wild travel to the coast, prevent
any exportation of made cloth, and years must elapse before the
obstacles are removed.
The coast of Eastern Intertropical Africa produces everywhere, as far as
my wanderings extended, a small quantity of cotton now used only for
domestic purposes. The rich ochreous clays and the black earths fat with
decayed vegetation, cause the neglected shrub to grow luxuriantly. The
mountains of Usumbara north of the Panga-ni river are peculiarly fitted
by climate and geological formation for growing the shrub. I afterwards
found it in Unyamwezi planted here and there amongst the huts, and in N.
lat. 4° Capt. Grant observed the Gossypium punctatum, a perennial whose
produce was woven into women’s aprons. There is no reason to despair of
producing in East Africa a cotton which might rival the celebrated
growths of Algeria and Egypt; at present, however, as Dr Livingstone’s
second Expedition proved, the conditions of export are far inferior to
those of Abeokuta and of Accra a whole generation ago.
Said bin Salim having formerly been Governor of Sa’adani, we were
received by the crowd with all the honours. The Chief Bori was absent,
visiting Kipombui, a village lying a few miles north: he was preparing
to fight one Abdullah Mákitá, a Msegeju chief living near Tanga, and his
intimate relations with Muigni Khatib of Usumbara would allow him free
passage along the coast. He is famed through all the country-side for a
mighty soul contained in a little body, and for a princely generosity
which fills his house with hungry feeders. At present he is on bad terms
with his brother Mohammed, Chief of Urumwi, a settlement three hours to
the south, and the latter lately burned down Sa’adani. Here when a Diwan
is poor he has only to attack a wealthy neighbour, drive off a hundred
head of slaves, and send to market those not wanted as home-hands—this
eternal state of feud of course greatly demoralizes the people.
One of Bori’s many cousins led us to the ‘Government House,’ which was
surrounded with a wall of stone and lime: he found lodgings for us in a
large hut and a broad verandah; after some delay we were fed with dates
and coffee, with rice and cream pressed from pounded cocoa-nut meat, and
with fowls and mutton, the victim being a dun-coloured sheep with a long
fat tail, very unlike the Somali breed. In the evening there was a Ngoma
Khu, the normal dance of honour, preluded by the loud singing of the
women inside the house, and by the warning sound of three drums. The
corps de ballet, a dozen strong, young and old, then defiled before us.
Their heads were clean shaven, or half grown, or covered with short
stiff curls intensely black and forming the least grotesque of African
coiffures: the dress was an indigo-dyed stuff with large red stripes and
border extending to the feet, and round the bosom a white cloth or some
coloured cotton contrasted with the blue. Presently the ballerinas
formed line and divided into two parties, facing inwards; the
performance consisted of trampling and twirling with heads inclined on
one side, and eyes modestly fixed upon the ground, whilst palms were
kneaded as if washing
‘—with invisible soap,
In imperceptible water.’
A passing sail drew off all the spectators as though they had been
Cornish wreckers in the olden times, who had successfully fastened their
lantern to a bullock’s horns. The most interesting of the crowd were the
sylvan men in skin aprons stained with Mimosa-bark: their widely opened
mouths proved that curiosity was reciprocal. Some of the younger girls
had the beauty of negrodom, and none appeared to be bégueules: here the
people pass all the time not given to trade in love-making and intrigue.
As in the Bombay of 1857, damages have been made cheap and feasible for
the co-respondent: an affair with a Diwan’s wife costs five slaves, with
a ‘common person’ one slave, with the chattel of another man five to six
cloths, and so on.
The day after our arrival was a forced halt, the copal-diggers had set
out in another direction before dawn, and no donkey-saddle was to be
found: the next, however, was more propitious. Led by Mánji, the
Akida’ao, Mtu-Mkuba, Mukaddam, or headman of the gang, we walked west
over an alluvial plain of blue earth, veiled with white sand, a narrow
path, threading the dwarf plantations of maize and manioc, of cucumber,
pulse (Lobiya), and the castor plant growing everywhere wild. Crossing,
after some 200 yards, a sandy Nullah, which supplies sweet water, we
came to a rank and reeking, a thorny and cloth-tearing vegetation, and
to thick, coarse spear-grass, burned down in the dry weather: this is
the home of the spur-fowl, the Kudu, and other antelopes. Three miles
(by pedometer) of damp trudging, a shower having fallen last night,
placed us before the first Msandarúsi,[48] or copal tree (Hymenœa
verrucosa. Boivin). It was growing in a thicket upon a flat covered with
Mimosas, Hyphœnas, and various palms, the cocoa being absent. The
specimen, though young, was some 30 feet tall, and measured about a yard
in girth: it was not in flower nor in fruit; the latter, according to
the people, is a berry like a grain of Muhindi (maize). Climbing up the
straight, smooth trunk to secure specimens of wood, bark, and leaf, I
was pitilessly assaulted by the Maji-Moto (boiling water), a long
ginger-coloured and semi-transparent ant, whose every bite drew blood.
From the trunk and on the ground I picked up specimens of the gum which
exudes from the bole and boughs when injured by elephants, or other
causes. This is the Chakazi, raw copal, whence the local ‘Jackass
copal:’ it has rarely any ‘gooseskin,’ and it floats, whilst the older
formation sinks, in water. Valueless to us, it produces the magnificent
varnishes of China and Japan. In a paper lately read before the Linnæan
Society, my friend Dr Kirk, H. B. M.’s Acting Consul at Zanzibar,
declared that the fossil resin when first dug up shows no trace of the
characteristic ‘goose-skin,’ which appears only when the surface is
cleaned by brushing. I believe that this phenomenon is shown simply by
removing the sand which fills up the interstices. But it is hard to make
anything of Captain Grant’s statement—‘the true copal-gum tree is a
climber, which ascends to a great height among the forest trees, and
finally becomes completely detached from the original root, when the
copal exudes from the extremities of these detached roots.’ He must
allude, not to the well-known Msandarúsi (mentioned by M. Guillain, i.
24, ‘le M’sandarouss est un bois dur et résineux, qui donne aussi des
pièces de mâture’), but to some other and unknown genus.
A fourth mile of gradual rise brought us to a distinctly-defined
sea-beach, swelling about 100 feet above water, and dimly showing
Zanzibar Island to the S. East. The material was sand with a slight
admixture of vegetable humus: the ridge top was crowned with luxuriant
thicket, and a fine of water-washed quartz pebbles defined the flank. I
afterwards found the same at Muhonyera in valley of the Kinga-ni river,
where the pebbles strewed the northern slope of the hillock upon which
we were encamped. Captain Speke (Journal, &c., chap. ii.) inspected it
on his second journey at the desire of the Royal Geographical Society,
to see if it gave indications of a ‘raised sea-beach,’ and came to the
conclusion that ‘no mind but one prone to discovering sea-beaches in the
most unlikely places could have supposed for a moment that one existed
here.’ But did he know what a raised sea-beach was, even had he seen it?
He adds, ‘there are no pebbles;’ my only reply is that I picked up
specimens, and I find in my Field Book, now deposited with the Royal
Geographical Society, ‘Muhonyera’ ... ‘elevated, sea-beach, lines of
pink, quartzose rounded pebbles.’
On this beach, as on the flat below, were frequent traces of manual
labour: the tree, however, is not common,—only two appeared, within half
a mile. Mánji proceeded to show me the digging process, which was of the
simplest: he crowed a hole with a sharpened stick in the loose sand, and
disclosed several bits of the bitumenized and semi-mineral gum. One of
the slaves sank a pit about three feet deep: the earth became redder as
he descended, crimson fibrous matter appeared, and presently the ground
seemed to be half sand, half comminuted copal. There was neither blue
clay nor tree-roots as in Zanzibar Island, nor did I find this formation
in any of the wells or excavations examined upon the coast. According to
the guide, the only subsoil is this ruddy arenaceous matter: his people,
however, never dig lower than a man’s waist. They use the Jembe, or
little iron hoe, and when ‘grist for the mill’ is wanted they form small
gangs, who proceed to the ‘jungle’ for two or three days, carrying with
them the necessaries of life.
The whole of this Zangian coast produces the copal of commerce:
specimens have been brought to Zanzibar from the northern limits of
Makdishu and Brava to Kilwa and Cape Delgado—by rough computation 800
miles. It extends, here three hours’ march, there two to three days,
into the interior. On the mainland it costs half-price of what is paid
upon the Island, and the indolent Wasawahili of the villages cannot be
induced to dig whilst a handful of grain remains in the bin. I found it
impossible to ‘trace the position and circumstances of the extinct
forests, of which copal constitutes the principal remains:’ such an
investigation would have entailed at least two months’ voyaging along,
and dwelling upon, the fever-haunted seaboard.
I was also obliged to leave to the late secretary of the Bombay
Geographical Society the task of remedying the host of evils that at
present beset copal-digging. The first is the Commercial treaty of 1839,
by whose tenth article H. H. the Sayyid engages ‘not to permit the
establishment of any monopoly or exclusive privilege of sale within his
dominions, except in the articles of ivory and gum copal on that part of
the East Coast of Africa, from the port of Tangate, situated in about 5½
degrees of S. latitude, to the port of Quiloa, lying in about 7 degrees
south of the equator.’ The U. S. Commercial treaty of 1833 contains no
such clause, but the French treaty, concluded in 1844, thus modifies
(Art. xi.) the prohibition to traffic which appears in the English
treaty. ‘But if the English or Americans or any other Christian nation
should carry goods, the French shall in like manner be at liberty to do
so.’ With the Arabs such matters are easily managed for the benefit of
both parties: when, however, European jealousies complicate the affair
there is little hope of their being brought to a successful issue.
Moreover, Europeans cannot do manual labour upon the Zanzibarian
seaboard. Hindustanis would fear to face, not only the fever, but the
savage. A gang of 500 negroes from Kilwa or Arabs from Hazramaut taught
to use moderate-sized mattocks, not the child’s plaything now in
fashion, well paid and kept at regular work, would soon, by their own
exertions and by example, stimulate the copal digging into liveliness or
break up the unnatural monopoly. But the Sayyid’s government would
object to such occupation of its territory; the Wasawahili Diwans would
require propitiation; and in view of desertion, it would be necessary to
make specific contracts with the chiefs of tribes, villages, and
harbours. It is to be feared that such an operation would not pay,
commercially speaking, though every hand might produce, as it has been
calculated he can, 12 to 15 lbs. per diem. Willingly, therefore, as I
would have won that highest of meeds, the gratitude of my
fellow-countrymen by reducing the price of coach-varnish, I had fairly
to confess that it was beyond my powers. The sole remedy is Time—perhaps
an occasional East African expedition might be adhibited to advantage.
As regards the limestone band, of which I had forwarded specimens from
the Somali country, no traces were found till after leaving the modern
corallines and sandstones of the coast which possibly overlie it. Our
march to the Usagara mountains (5000 feet high) was more fortunate: a
fossil bulimus was picked up in the Western counterslope of those
Eastern Ghauts, about 3200 feet above sea-level, and calcareous nodules
of weather-worn ‘Kunker’ were remarked in more than one place. Captain
Speke (Journal, chap. ii.) afterwards saw at Kidunda of Uzaramo on the
left of the Kingani valley ‘pisolithic limestone in which marine fossils
were observable.’
Nothing of interest now remained for me at Sa’adani. Before earliest
dawn, when Venus hung like a lamp between dark sky and darker earth, and
before the lovely flush of morning had lit up the Eastern sea, we
embarked, and enjoyed a lively sail. Whilst the mainland was clear, the
Island of Zanzibar had hid itself in a mass of dark dense cloud, and
presently it sent to meet us heavy leaden-coloured rain apparently solid
as a stone wall. We had sundry gusts and dead calms, till at last a
light breeze wafted us once more into port.
-----
Footnote 45:
Denok is the Galla name of the stream, probably from Danesha, a
townlet or encampment on the right bank of the stream, some three
miles from the sea. Vumbo is the Kisawahili term. The Somal call it
Gob, ‘the junction’ (hence the Juba of the Arabs, who cannot pronounce
the letter G), and Gob-wen, ‘the great junction,’ a name also given to
the settlement Danesha: hence the Hinduized form Govind. Webbe (river)
Ganana (bifurcation) is derived from a village high up the stream. The
Portuguese called it Rio dos Fuegos from the number of fires, probably
of fishermen: the English, ‘Rogues River,’ a term which might be
applied to all the streams on this coast.
Footnote 46:
I have reprinted the rest of the paper in my preface to a Memoir on
the Lake Regions of Central Equatorial Africa.—Journal Royal
Geographical Society, xx. 1860.
Footnote 47:
It has been remarked by Dr Beke (Transactions of the Royal
Geographical Society, vol. xvii. p. 74), that hereabouts is the
position assigned by Ptolemy to his Anthropophagi, living around the
Barbaric Gulf, and by El Mas’udi to the men-eating Zenj—a curious
coincidence. I am convinced that all the negro tribes now settled upon
the East and West coasts of Intertropical Africa have migrated, or
rather have gravitated, from the interior within a few centuries, and
that the process is still in active operation. Whatever the Wamakua
Menschen-fresser may have been, the Wadoe seem to have adopted
cannibalism of late years, in terrorem. So Tarik, the Arab invader of
Spain, when fighting his way between Bœtis and the Tagus, ordered his
men to cook (but not to eat) the flesh of slain Christians.
Footnote 48:
From the Arab Sandarus, which their pharmacopœia applies to the
transparent resin Sandaraca or Sandarach. Our copal is a corruption of
the Mexican Kopali—any gum. It is called anime or animi in the London
market, and by the workman French varnish. The copals of Mexico, of
New Zealand (popularly termed Cowace copal), and of the West African
coast, are inferior kinds. The ‘Damar,’ or gum found about Cape
Delgado, floats in water, and may be unripe copal washed out by the
wet season.
CHAPTER X.
THE EAST AFRICAN EXPEDITION OF 1857-1859.
‘All truth must be ultimately salutary, and all deception
pernicious.’—FRANCIS JEFFREY.
At length came the moment for departure—June 17, 1858. We had learned
what we wanted to learn on the seaboard, whilst at Zanzibar Island no
further information was to be procured. The rains had ended on June 5:
the harvest was coming on, and trading parties were returning to the
coast—every day three or four boats passed outward-bound under the
windows of the Consulate.[49] Our preparations were hurriedly made.
Cogent reasons, however, compelled me to move quamprimum, and evidently
delay, even for a week, might have been fatal to my project. Lieut.-Col.
Hamerton’s health rapidly declined: he was compelled to lead the life of
a recluse, and his ever-increasing weakness favoured the cause of our
ill-wishers. Local politics became more confused, and the succession
troubles more imminent, whilst the Sayyid’s Government, deceived by our
silence during the rains into a belief that the Panga-ni fever had
cooled our ardour, lost all interest in the enterprise, and required to
be aroused from its apathy by a stiff reminder.
My old friend, the late Mr James Macqueen, has declared that the
expedition was ‘organized upon erroneous and fallacious principles—with
large parties of armed men, with numerous attendants, and extensive
supplies.’ I can reply only that my model was the normal coast-caravan,
and certainly with less apparatus we should have made less progress. We
were not, however, favoured by fortune; and, as Baron Melchior de Grimm
sagely observes, ‘there is nothing in this life’—especially in African
travel—‘but luck, good or bad.’ The Kafilah-bashi was still Said bin
Salim, who, upon receiving from Lieut.-Col. Hamerton an advance of $300,
and the promise of a gold watch after return, in case of good conduct,
at once pleaded a mortgage upon his plantations to the extent of $500.
We were compelled to compound the matter for $250, before he could
precede us to the coast, with his four slave musketeers, one lad, and
two girls. The Baloch escort was, according to popular rumour, picked up
in the Bazar: it began with a dozen, and it ended with seven muskets,
not including the monocular Jemadar Mallok. They wanted everything
imaginable,—debts to be paid, rice, lead, gunpowder, light matchlocks,
$8 for an ass, and slaves to serve them. The Banyan Ramji supplied us
with nine ruffians, whose only object was to lay out their, or his,
money as profitably as possible in slaves; indeed, this seemed to be the
end and aim of our whole native party. Upon the coast we engaged as
porters 36 Unyamwezi negroes, men who usually behave well, but who are
uncommonly ready to follow bad example. As the number was deficient, we
supplied the place of more with some 30 baggage-asses, which added not a
little to our troubles and losses.
Lieut.-Col. Hamerton listened with pleasure to my suggestion that he
might at once change air, from the close, foul, fetid town, and
superintend our departure from the coast. The Sayyid’s kindness was
unwearied: he came to bid us adieu, and manned for us, with a crew of
20, his own corvette, the Artemise, Captain Mohammed bin Khamis. The
latter having been educated in England, where he had learned to observe
and survey, and imbued by ‘letters’ with the restless impulse of
European civilization, had once proposed to the Royal Geographical
Society himself to explore the Lake Regions; and had he been
trustworthy, he might have done work valuable as that of Capt.
‘Montgomerie’s Pandits.’ His father, Khamisi wa Tani, was the
‘intelligent Sawahili or Mohammedan native of the Eastern coast of
Africa,’ who had so notably cajoled Mr Cooley. This ‘mild and unassuming
man’s’ antecedents were of the worst description. Born at Lamu, he
became headman of the drummers at Zanzibar, and afterwards a slaver,
according to M. Guillain, who terms him ‘spirituel et rusé coquin.’ In
this capacity he ‘had travelled much on the mainland, he had visited
many distant parts of the East, and could converse in fourteen
languages.’ Turpilucricupidus then became Capt. Owen’s interpreter along
the Eastern coasts of Arabia and Africa. His voyage in 1835 to London,
where Shaykh Khamis bin Usman at once became an ‘African Prince,’ arose
not ‘for the purpose of assorting the first cargoes shipped direct to
Zanzibar,’ but from the stern necessity of temporarily leaving that
Island with his head in loco, he having defrauded his master, the
Sayyid, to the extent of $18,000. His ingenuity did not fail him in our
country, where his revelations touching the Lake Regions and the unknown
interior were delivered and chronicled with a gravity which excites
laughter. Returning home, ‘the Liar,’ as he was popularly termed by his
countrymen, received the Sayyid’s pardon. He then became a kind of
lackey and maître d’hotel, factotum and Figaro in native houses, the
‘palace’ included, when Europeans were entertained. He has ever since
devoted his talents to making himself as wealthy, and his friends as
poor, as possible. I had been especially warned against him, on account
of the prominent part which he took in spreading reports which led to
the murder of M. Maizan, and it is not pleasant to see one’s
fellow-countrymen so notably ‘humbugged.’
We found a general rendezvous at Kaole Urembo, which was attended by
Ladha Damha, Chief of the Customs, the ‘’Ifrít’ Ramji, and the
ex-Sarhang ‘General Tom:’ the Messrs Oswald also ran over in their
four-gun schooner, the Electric Flash. On June 26, 1857, we bade adieu
to Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, whose distressing alternations of insomnia,
debility, and irritability had been apparently increased by the voyage.
He dropped a tear as he said farewell, and solemnly blessed us, adding
that we should meet no more in this world, and that he quitted it
without regret. Thus it proved. He struggled against his fate, but he
succumbed on July 5, the victim of a chronic liver complaint. Various
reports of his death reached us in the interior, but it was not
confirmed by letter till eleven months afterwards.
The work of exploring now began in real earnest. I have, however, no
intention of inflicting upon the reader a rechauffé of our expedition,
which has been described by me in four volumes,[50] and of which notices
have been given in another three,[51] by Captains Speke and Grant. My
principal object in alluding to them is to offer the judgment and the
after-thoughts matured by a whole decade, as well as to show what has
been done since. The risk of this, the first attempt, has been stated to
be nil by a man who never trusted himself a mile away from the coast,
and whose tenderness for his personal safety has ever been more than
notorious. In writing our adventures I was careful not to make a
sensation of danger; but future travellers, warned by the fate of MM.
Maizan and Roscher, not to speak of Lieut. Stroyan, of Baron von der
Decken’s party, nor of M. von Heuglin in the Somali country, and the
detention of Dr Livingstone, will do well not to think that, when about
to explore Central Africa, they are setting out upon a mere promenade.
The repeated complaints respecting our petty troubles, which to readers
appeared exaggerated, were true to my feeling at the time. The death of
Sayyid Saíd had been our first blow; the second was the non-arrival of
Dr Steinhaeuser; and the third was the loss of our excellent friend
Lieut.-Col. Hamerton, whose presence at head-quarters would have
forwarded our views in various ways. I have preserved copies of letters
written to Banyans and others, who, after fair promises, completely
neglected us. M. Ladislaus Cochet and Capt. Mansfield did their best;
but as we had not taken counsel with them before departure, their
efforts were, of course, limited. And the cholera which, unknown to us,
had fallen upon the Island, decimating its population, naturally enough
prevented the sufferers from bestowing attention upon a distant
enterprise. The neglect, however, told upon our escort, and to manage
them would have taxed the wisdom of Solomon and the patience of Job. The
monoculous Jemadar, shortly after our return, persuaded Baron von der
Decken to appoint him chief of his party when on route from Kilwa to the
Nyassa or Southern Lake: as might be expected, that expedition did not
reach half way. Concerning the ‘Sons of Ramji’ I find amongst my papers
the following memo.:
‘Msene district, Jan. 14, 1858.
‘To Sheth Ramji,
‘The full term for which he engaged the eight slaves, Kidogo,
Jako, Mbaruk, Waledi, Mboni, Muhinna, Buyuni, and Hayja, having
now expired, we give them their dismissal. From the commencement
of the march their insolence of manner and their independence of
action have been so troublesome to us, and so disastrous to our
progress, that we feel no compunction in thus summarily dismissing
them.
(Signed) ‘CAPTAINS BURTON & SPEKE.’
Under different circumstances we should have been spared the
hardship and suffering of all ‘up-hill work,’ of labouring against
the stream of events. We might then easily have returned via Egypt
to Europe, as I firmly intended, and as my companion—aided by the
experience of the past, and travelling under the most favourable
auspices—was able to do on his second expedition. Once thoroughly
laid open, no African road is difficult, unless temporary obstacles,
such as famines or bandit raids, oppose progress, and the hard crust
of the coast being broken, the interior offers comparatively few
obstacles. But, I repeat, in wayfaring, as in warfare, opportunity
is everything: better an ounce of fortune’s favours than a ton of
genius or merit.
We followed the Arab line of traffic, first laid open to Lake
Tanganyika by Sayf bin Said el Muameri, about 1825. The existence of
a beaten path in Africa has its advantages and its disadvantages.
The natives are accustomed to travellers; they no longer perpetually
attribute to them supernatural and pernicious powers, nor do they,
except amongst the worst tribes, expect every manner of evil to
follow the portent: it is not difficult to engage hands, nor is it
impossible to collect information concerning regions which cannot be
visited. At the same time, contact with the slave-dealer has
increased cupidity and has diminished hospitality: the African loses
all sense of savage honour, without learning to replace it by
commercial honesty, and all his ingenuity is devoted to the
contrivance and the carrying out of ‘avanies.’ But where, on the
other hand, the explorer must hew his own way—such was the case with
Paul du Chaillu from the Gaboon region, and with myself up the Congo
river—and where there is no prescriptive right of transit even for
pay, the adventure waxes far more difficult and dangerous. Here we
see the African at home, an unmitigated savage, unmodified by
acquaintance with the outer world, dwelling in the presence of his
brethren, and rich in all the contrarieties of the racial character.
His suspicions and his desires are at once aroused. His horror of
new things struggles with his wish to make the most of them; he has
no precedent for his demands, and consequently he has no sense of
their absurdity. A caravan is to him a ‘Doummoulafong,’ or thing
sent to be eaten, as Mungo Park’s second expedition was called. A
Portuguese officer has been asked $120 by the Wamakúa for permission
to visit a hill behind Mozambique, distant some 25 miles from the
sea. At the Yellalah, or Rapids of the Congo river, I was required
to pay, before leave to advance could be given, a fee in goods which
would have amounted to £200. And expense is not the main obstacle to
the success of these exceptional expeditions: the merest accident
with a fire-arm may render progress impossible, and may endanger the
lives of the whole party.
The most troublesome features of the beaten path to the white face
are the exorbitant demands of the negro chiefs. They know that the
slave-dealer, if over-taxed, will open some other and rival line.
But they see the European for the first time; they never expect, nor
perhaps do they desire, ever to see him again; and their only object
is to gauge his generosity by extracting from him as much as
possible. This is the severest trial of temper, for the explorer
well knows that the end of his outfit is the end of his journey.
Whilst he recognizes the absolute necessity of economy, the
disappointed chief, in high dudgeon, urges his rights, perhaps with
threats; and certainly causes all manner of delays and difficulties.
The native in charge of the caravan fears awkward consequences,
especially at times of war or draught, of famine or pestilence, and
complies with the demand in secret, if prevented from acting openly,
out of his own purse if not from the public funds. The over-worked
traveller, scolding, storming, and getting up temper to blood-heat
when required, cannot watch every string of beads or yard of cloth;
and some day a report is brought to him that he is running short,
when perhaps the most interesting part of his journey is within
sight, and yet, for want of means, cannot be explored.
We found also an unmitigated evil in the universal practice of
desertion. The fickle and inconsequent negro slave must, they say,
run away once in his life, and, like the liar of the Persian Joe
Miller, he will do so at the most awkward of times. The impulsive,
irritable, and violent Murungwanah (libertus) is equally apt to
abscond, especially after disputes with his fellows, and he
generally adds injury to injury by carrying away his pack. The
undisciplinable free porters disappear en masse if commons wax
short, if loads be too heavy, if a fight be threatened, or if
wasting of ammunition be forbidden. Under similar circumstances the
turbulent Baloch mutiny and march off. During our 18 months’ march
there was not, in the party of 80, an individual who did not at some
time or other desert or attempt to desert us. The Second Expedition,
despite all its advantages of more abundant supplies and of ample
support from Zanzibar, fared not a whit better: we find in it 123
desertions duly chronicled.
For three months and a half our heart-wearing work was cheered only
by two stimulants, the traveller’s delight in seeing new scenes
unfold themselves before his eyes and the sense of doing a something
lastingly useful to geographers. We were also opening for Europeans
a new road into the heart of Africa, a region boundless in
commercial resources, and bounded in commercial development only by
the stereotyped barbarism of its inhabitants; and we hoped that
those who might follow us would be able to turn many of the
obstacles through which we were compelled to cut a way. In November,
1857, we perforce halted for rest and to reorganize the party at
Kazeh in Unyamwezi, some 350 direct geographical miles from the
coast. The site was the most pleasant that we had hitherto seen, a
plateau (S. lat. 5° and E. long. G. 33°) in the depths of the
Tropics, but made temperate by altitude (3000 to 4000 feet above sea
level), studded with hills rising abruptly from fertile grassy
plains, and broken by patches of cultivation, by valleys, and by
forests of the richest growth.
At this half-way house the Expedition was hospitably received by the
warm-hearted Arabs, Snay bin Amir, Saíd bin Majid, old Saíd bin Ali,
the sons of Salim bin Rashid, Muhinna bin Sulayman, and other
notabilities of the great central mart. They housed us and supplied
all our wants—I know not what we should have done without their
friendly aid—and the geographical information which they gave me
directly led to what many have held to be the most important feature
of the exploration. The Second Expedition also records its
obligations in the matter of hands and rations. It found, however,
Kazeh turned, into an agricultural depôt, the neighbouring villages
ruined, and the people starving. The merchants had refused to pay a
tax imposed upon them by Manwa Sera, son of the Fundi Kira, lord of
Unyanyembe, in the days when I visited it, and the young chief, who
was very popular, had been supplanted by his half-brother Msikiwa.
Hence a war resulting in the death of my poor friend, the brave Snay
bin Amir, who, being too proud and perhaps not young enough to run
from the hosts of enemies, lay down when abandoned by his negroes
and took his chance, that is to say, was slaughtered. Manwa Sera
then threatened to attack Kazeh, and the Arabs begged Capt. Speke
not to abandon hosts, whose warm and generous hospitality he
repeatedly acknowledges. The reply was that ‘he had a duty to
perform as well as themselves, and that in a day or two he would be
off.’ Some men would not have treated so lightly a heavy debt of
gratitude, but such compunctions are often fatal to success. Capt.
Speke, I doubt not, really believed that ‘the interests of old
England were at stake:’ he had not hesitated for a moment in
throwing over a Himalayan friend who was to have accompanied him,
nor did he deem himself otherwise but justified in separating from a
companion subject to African fever recurring every fortnight.
We were detained a month at Kazeh. Purple skies, westerly gales, and
furious thunderstorms, showed that the Masika Mku, or Great Rains,
were about to break, and the change was evident after the high cold
easterly winds which, during the six months of rainless season,
sweep the elevated basin. Our gang was paid off and another was not
easily collected: porters during the dry, these men became peasants
in the wet weather. With infinite trouble, and only by the aid of
the Arabs, we were able to leave Kazeh on December 8, during the
height of the S. West monsoon. The march of 180 direct geographical
miles was to us the most disastrous of all. The downfall was copious
and unintermitting, storms burst over us with such thunder and
lightning as I have never witnessed before or since, the flooding
rivers necessitated ferry-boats, and the land, declining and
draining to the westward, became one Great Dismal Swamp. Deduced in
strength by persistent fevers, we could not resist the drenchings
and sunburnings, the long day marches and the nights spent in
unhealthy and sometimes deserted villages. My companion complained
of blindness which hardly permitted him to read a watch, and I
suddenly found myself helpless with paraplegia, a paralysis of the
extremities, which, according to Capt. Smee, often follows febrile
attacks at Zanzibar.
After a total of some 537 rectilinear geographical miles[52] from
the coast, we ascended, on Feb. 13, 1858, the well-wooded range
which bounds the eastern waters of the ‘Sea of Ujiji,’ and from the
western declivity we sighted—very imperfectly, it must be owned—the
fair expanse of a lake whose name was then unknown to us. Some
months afterwards, when reading Dr Livingstone’s first expedition, I
found (chap. xxiv.) that the traveller meeting a party of Zanzibar
Arabs at Naliele in the centre of the continent, heard of the
‘Tanganyenka,’ a ‘large shallow lake over which canoes were punted.’
At that time, however, I had sent to England the picturesque native
name ‘Tanganyika,’ the ‘meeting-place of waters.’[53] The sight was
a cordial: this one gleam of success consoled us, made us forget the
petty annoyances, the endless worry, the hardship, and the sickness
which we had endured for it; and we felt a sensible relief from the
grinding care which the prospect of failure must ever present.
Yet even the bright view of the blue waters had its dark side: we
had left the Louisa behind, and we saw no way of navigating this
lake. Reaching, on February 14, 1858, Kawele of the Ujiji district,
a market village and a depot for ivory and slaves on the eastern
side, and about the northern third of the Tanganyika, we housed our
goods and began to cast about for canoes. The only dau or sailing
craft belonged to Shaykh Hamid, an Arab trader then living at
Kasenge, a little insular station near the Western shore. After
making all necessary inquiries, I despatched, on May 3, my companion
with a party of 26 men: he crossed the Tanganyika, but in vain—the
proprietor would not convoy us round the lake, though we offered him
£100 for a fortnight’s cruise. Captain Speke here met with a strange
accident: a beetle crept into his ear, and being awkwardly killed,
caused for 6 to 7 months deafness and suppuration: it acted,
however, as a counter-irritant, and to a certain extent gave him
back his sight. My companion afterwards complained loudly of being
unable to accompany Hamid to the Uruwwa[54] district, where
merchants traded for ivory and copper: we should thus have spanned
half the Continent, and our line could easily have been connected
with Dr Livingstone’s route through Angola. As, however, on that
journey Hamid and all his slaves were murdered, and their property
was plundered by the people, my companion had not much to regret.
Hamid, moreover, gave information which made us wild to reach the
upper end of the Tanganyika Lake. He had been so near its northern
head that he had felt the outward drift of the
stream. The rains were still heavy; but as our supplies were running
short, we resolved to make the attempt in any way. Kannena, the
Chief of Ujiji, proved himself an ill-disposed and ungovernable
savage, ever attempting to thwart our plans, and evidently holding
that we were quite at his mercy. But wishing to bring ivory from
Uvira, he was persuaded to escort us with two canoes. Our excursion
northwards occupied 15 days, eight being the usual time; and it was
not a ‘pleasure-trip.’
At Uvira my hopes of discovering the Western Nile Reservoir, and of
solving the problem which has puzzled some 30 centuries, were rudely
dashed to the ground. The Warundi savages, who had stopped Hamid
near the northern end of the lake, were hostile to the Wajiji, and
we could not proceed to the north where the mountains walling-in the
water seemed to converge. Similarly the second expedition, during
five months spent with the King of Ugande, was unable to sight the
‘Victoria Nyanza,’ distant five hours’ walk. Capt. Speke ascended
perhaps 150 feet, but from so low an altitude he could obtain no
general view of the land north of the Tanganyika, and he laid down a
narrow valley. Presently receiving a visit from the three stalwart
sons of the Sultan Maruta, the subject of the mysterious stream
which all my informants, Arab as well as African, had made to issue
from the lake, and which for months we had looked upon as the
western head-stream of the Nile, was at once brought forward. All
declared (probably falsely) that they had visited it; all asserted
that the Rusizi river enters into, instead of flowing from, the
Tanganyika, and presently Sidi Bombay, by way of the coldest
consolation (‘little goat, don’t die, spring comes!’), declared that
Hamid had meant the reverse of what he said. I felt sick at heart.
The African’s account of stream-direction is often diametrically
opposed to fact; seldom the Arab’s—in this point I differ totally
from Capt. Speke. But our Wajiji would not suffer us to remain at
Uvira, much less to penetrate northwards: we were compelled
hurriedly to return; and thus, as has before been related, the
mystery remained unsolved. I distinctly deny that any ‘misleading by
my instructions from the Royal Geographical Society as to the
position of the White Nile,’ made me unconscious of the vast
importance of ascertaining the direction of the Rusizi river. The
fact is, we did our best to reach it, and we failed.
I returned home with the conviction that the Tanganyika is a still
lake. This view, however, appeared a strange hydrographical puzzle
to geographers, who were not slow to combat it. Messrs Vaux and
Galton, and my kind friend Mr Findlay, who has never ceased to
impress the public with what he holds to be the true state of the
case, doubted that an immense reservoir 250 miles long, situated at
a considerable altitude in the African zone of almost constant rain,
whose potable waters are free of saline substances washed down by
its tributaries from the area of drainage, and which shows no marks
of great accession of level, can maintain these conditions without
efflux. The most natural explanation was to make the Marungu,
Luapula, or Runangwa river, at the southern extremity of the
Tanganyika, act outlet, and drain it to the Nyassa or Kilwa Lake,
bearing S. 55° East, and distant 340 to 350 miles. The universal
testimony of the natives to its being an influent formed in the mind
of my companion (Journal, p. 90) six years afterwards ‘the most
conclusive argument that it does run out of the lake.’ It did not
appear equally conclusive to others.
The absence of all connection, however, between the Tanganyika and
the Nyassa Lakes was proved by Dr Livingstone’s second expedition
and by the excellent paper ‘on the probable ultimate sources of the
Nile’ (Mr Alexander Geo. Findlay, F.R.G.S., read June 3, 1867). The
latter showed that no considerable stream draining an area of at
least 3000 square British miles, or a country as large as England
and France combined, enters Nyassa from the north. Since that time
Dr Livingstone has placed (Letters to Dr Kirk, July 8, 1868, and to
the Earl of Clarendon, July, 1868) the Nile sources between S. lat.
10° and 12°, north of the great Serra Muxinga of the Portuguese
travellers Lacerda, Monteiro, and Gamitto, nearly in the position
assigned to them by Ptolemy uncorrected for latitude.[55] About 400
miles south of the southernmost extremity of the Nyanza or Northern
Lake, he finds ‘not one source, but upwards of 20 of them,’ and he
is under the impression that he had stood on the water-shed between
the Zambeze and either the Congo or the Nile. Mr Keith Johnston
jun.’s excellent paper[56] shows that the Serra Muxinga, of which
more presently, may represent that portion of the Rocky Mountains
which send forth the Missouri, the Columbia, and the Colorado. And
he apparently would drain the northern fall to the Congo river,
whereas in the Mittheilungen it takes the direction of the Albert
Nyassa, and the labours of Capt. George, R.N., would throw the water
into the Tanganyika.
Thus the theory of the southern effluent lost favour, and that which
made the Rusizi a northern influent soon shared the same fate. In
1863 Capt. Speke converted it into a lake or a ‘broad,’ of which he
had heard the year before, lying between the Tanganyika and the Luta
Nzige, Mwutan or Albert Nyassa. Presently Sir Samuel Baker (1864)
caused the southern extremity of the Luta Nzige, which he placed
2200 feet above sea-level, to over-lap the Rusizi. ‘I therefore
claim,’ concludes Mr Findlay, ‘for Lake Tanganyika the honour of
being the SOUTHERNMOST RESERVOIR OF THE NILE until some more
positive evidence, by actual observation, shall otherwise determine
it.’
To this view the geographical public offered two objections. The
first was that the northern end of the Tanganyika is encircled by
the ‘concave of the Mountains of the Moon.’ This was easily removed,
as the reader of these pages will see, by a collation of the several
maps forwarded by the Expedition from the interior. The first,
bearing date May, 1858, was sent from Kazeh on July 2, 1858: it
showed the results of our discovery (in February, 1858) and of the
information supplied to me by narratio obliqua through the Arabs and
Africans of Unyanyembe. Having no theory to support, it laid down,
what we saw or thought we saw, an open longitudinal valley running
northwards from the Tanganyika Lake. But that which my companion
brought home in June, 1859, bore signs of great change, especially
in a confused mass of mountains completely investing the northern
third of the long narrow crevasse: this by degrees resolved itself
into a huge horseshoe, which was incontinently dubbed the ‘Mountains
of the Moon, about 6000 feet.’ In his second expedition (Journal, p.
263) Capt. Speke declares that the range had been laid down ‘solely
on scientific geographical reasons,’ in fact, out of the depths of
his self-consciousness, and he supplemented it with a Lake Rusizi. I
saw it growing up under his hands, as copy followed copy: I
repeatedly objected to it, yet it managed to deform the maps of
Central Africa for years afterwards. It threw us once more back into
the romantic geography of the Arabs, who wove into one line Jebel
Kumri, and transferred north of the equator the scattered ranges
which Ptolemy (iv. 9) disposed at the antarctic end of his habitable
Africa. These, going from east to west, are represented by Barditon
Oros (S. lat. 16°) Meskhe or Ineskki, the Region of Agysimba (S.
lat. 13°), Xipha or Ziphar (S. lat. 8° 20′ 5″), Daukhis Oros (S.
lat. 13°), and Ion, the mountain of the Hesperian Æthiopians (S.
lat. 8° 20′ 5″).
The second objection was the elevation of the Tanganyika Lake. Its
low level in the great central plateau proved, however, to be a mere
mistake: only one observation was made, and that gave but 1844 feet
above the sea. But presently Mr Findlay found a pencil memorandum by
Capt. Speke, showing that when he again reached the coast our
thermometer, a common bath instrument, used because all the others
had been broken, boiled at 214° (F.) instead of 212° (F.). Moreover,
the observations of Sir Samuel Baker, carefully compared with those
of the second expedition, decisively proved that 1000 feet must be
added, placing the Tanganyika and the Nyanza on nearly the same
level. Again, Dr Livingstone reports from Bangweolo (July, 1868) of
the Liemba Lake, that he would have set it down as an arm of the
Tanganyika, but that its surface is 2800 feet above sea-level,
‘while Speke makes it 1844 only.’ Finally, the great African
traveller, who has now been long resident in the regions west of the
Tanganyika Lake, always writes of it as if he considered the
connection between it and the Luta Nzige established. Thus the
altitude of Lake Tanganyika was raised to 2800 feet, which would
easily carry its waters to the Nile. ‘It may appear strange,’ as Mr
Galton has remarked, ‘that there should be an error of a thousand
feet of altitude suspected in the observations of an explorer, but
the method of operating in uncivilized countries is quite different
from that employed at home.’ Evidently Capt. Speke allowed the
altitude of the lake to lie uncorrected for the same reason which
made him raise his ‘Lunæ montes.’ This will also answer M. Parthey
(June 2, 1864, Royal Academy of Sciences, Berlin).
A few words concerning the Moon Mountain, in which are the
Ptolemeian Nile sources. It is placed in S. lat. 12° 30′, which, by
applying the reduction as before proposed, we should convert to S.
lat. 6° 30′, and between East long. 57° and 67°, which, if taken
from S. Antonio (Antão), as the late Mr Hogg suggested, would be =
E. long. G. 30° to 40.° Its northern slope drains to the lake under
the parallels of S. lat. 6° and 7°, and separated by about 8° of
meridional distance. In many maps is added a third, or equatorial
lake, which may be the Baharingo, or Baringo, and indeed in chap.
xvii. (lib. i.) we find a plural form τὰς λίμνας, possibly showing a
knowledge of two large and sundry smaller features. The great
Unyamwezi Upland, using the name at its fullest extent, is bounded
both north and south by huge latitudinal blocks and chains of
mountains. The equatorial is the Highland of Karagwah, extending
eastward to the Æthiopic Olympus Kilima-njaro. The southern,
corresponding with Ptolemy’s parallels, is the great chain and
plateau, whose apex is the Serra Muxinga or Muchingwe, named by the
explorer Dr de Lacerda Cordelheira Antonina, in honour of his
prince. Lying in about S. lat. 12°, this feature, ranging from 3000
to 6000 feet high, may evidently be the divide of the Nile, the
Congo, and Zambezean basins; whilst the north-eastern projection
feeds with four considerable streams the Lake Liemba, discovered by
Dr Livingstone on April 2, 1867, and supposed to connect with the
Tanganyika by the River Marungu. The altitude of the Serra was
estimated in 1831 by Messrs Monteiro and Gamitto at a Portuguese
league (= about 19,700 feet) above sea-level, palpably exaggerated,
as in winter (August 10) neither ice nor snow was found upon it.
They describe the head as nearly always enveloped in clouds, and as
by far the loftiest summit in that part of Africa; the profile rises
steeply and abruptly from the table-land, commanding an extensive
prospect northward, and the ridge is broken by terrible and
dangerous precipices. Snow in this part of the continent may be
alluded to by João de Barros, who declares that in the Matouca
country, though situated between the equator and the tropic of
Capricorn, the natives die of cold. Later Portuguese historians
declare the Lupata to be a snowy range, probably referring, not to
the gorge of that name, but to the great block with which it is
connected. Dr Livingstone represents this, his latest discovery, to
cover a space south of the Tanganyika some 350 miles square, dotted
with lakes, and traversed on the eastern side by the River Chambeze,
which was first mentioned by Dr de Lacerda, and which has hitherto
been confounded with the Zambeze. The Greek term ‘Mountain of the
Moon’ may, I have already suggested, be derived from ‘Unyamwezi,’ an
empire whose position between the Tanganyika and the Nyanza group is
laid down in the map of Duarte Lopez (A. D. 1578–1587). The name of
this extensive region is still contracted upon the coast to Mwezi,
meaning the Moon, and thus we might translate Ptolemy, Mountain of
Unyamwezi. Similarly, the ancients derived the Erythrean Sea from
the Sea of Edom and of Himyar, both signifying Red: Diascorias was a
corruption of Dwipa Sokotra, and, to quote no more, Dr Beke has
shown how the Ptolemeian Iabadíou (Java-dwipa) became Barley Island
without growing barley.[57]
Finally, if we reject Unyamwezi and Muxinga as the original Lunar
Mountains, we must seek the latter with Dr Beke in the icy peaks of
the Æthiopic Olympus, prolonged to the Highlands of Karagwah.
A longer delay at Uvira than we had intended greatly improved my
health: the state of our finances, however, compelled us to set out
without delay from Ujiji to Kazeh. The rains had ceased on May 15,
and the return (June 11) by a straighter and more southerly road,
was far less unpleasant than the up-march. After a short interval
for repose, and for recovering his sight and hearing, Capt. Speke
volunteered to explore a lake reported to lie north, and known to
the Arabs as ‘Ukerewe,’ or Island-land. I had heard of it in
Zanzibar Island as a water called ‘Karagoa,’ parallel with and one
month west of the Sea of Ujiji. A signal disappointment at the
‘Ziwa’[58] of Ugogo, which proved to be a mere pond, made me suspect
the informants: yet Snay bin Amir and Musa Mzuri had both visited
the mountain regions to its west, and their observations were
represented in the sketch map, 1858, which, I repeat, is far less
incorrect than the exaggerated growth of 1859.[59] I was, however,
delighted with the prospect of a month’s leisure for inquiry amongst
the intelligent Arabs. It was also necessary to copy out notes,
which ill health had left in confusion, and to learn something about
the southern as well as the northern regions. Moreover, if truth
must be told, I sighed for the
‘Beata Solitudo
Sola Beatitude’
of the Pisan Cortosa. A critic in Colburn’s New Monthly Magazine
(The Nile Basin), remarks, ‘It was when travelling with Burton that
Speke first discovered Lake Nyanza, and his less fortunate
fellow-traveller seems never to have forgiven the brilliancy of an
achievement which left him comparatively in the shade.’ Mean,
indeed, must be the man who thus gratuitously imputes the meanest of
motives to another! What interest can the leader of an expedition
have in reducing his field of exploration, of not doing his best, of
not discovering as much as Fate allows him to discover? May he not
expect, like the general of an army, at least to share in the glory
won by the arms of his lieutenants? Capt. Speke was provided with a
gang of 34 guards, servants, and porters: he much wanted the little
Shaykh Said, but the latter wept privily at the prospect of meeting
death by want and hardship, and I allowed him to remain at Kazeh,
lest his intrigues might work mischief. Though my companion was a
match for ‘Sidi Bombay,’ he was a child in the hands of the tricky
Arab.
Captain Speke made a most spirited march. On August 3rd he sighted
the ‘Nyanza Lake,’ to which he gave 3740 feet of altitude; and he
returned, after covering in 47 days (June 9th to August 25th) 300
direct and 425 indirect geographical miles. He brought back the
information that this great equatorial reservoir was known to the
people as Nyanza, a generic term which, like Nyassa, means a sea, a
stream, or a lake. Standing 250 feet above its level, he saw 20 to
22 (not ‘over a hundred’) miles of surface, hardly enough to command
a liquid horizon between the islets which he called Mazita, Ukerewe,
and Majid.
Presently, by comparing Arab accounts, I found in Capt. Speke’s
diary sundry uncertainties of detail, such as making Mazita, and
perhaps Ukewere, insular instead of peninsular features. Nor could I
hear a word beyond the old legend current amongst African tribes,
from Somaliland to the Mozambique, touching white men and ships
navigating a lake or a river in the interior. The Kazeh people, as I
ascertained by consulting them, Knoblecher in hand, equally ignored
the familiar tribal names of Nyam-Nyam, Rungo, Mundu, Dor, Jur, Kek,
Nuehr, and the Shilluks, West, with the Dinkas, East of the Nile.
Their Bari was simply ‘Bahri’—Accolæ of the sea or river. But Capt.
Speke had discovered on ‘that broad open lake,’ not only the
‘sources of some great river,’ not only the Palus Orientalis Nili,
but ‘_The_ Sources of the Nile’: he had raised the veil of Isis, he
had settled for ever the ‘mystery of old Nilus’ origin.’ The subject
soon proved too sore for discussion, and evidently at that time my
companion began to prepare for a future campaign, by lavishly
retouching his maps, and by barring the Upper Tanganyika from any
possible connection with the northern basin.
During the second expedition Capt. Speke left Kazeh in May, 1861,
and travelled to the N. West, without ever sighting the ‘broad
surface.’ Living with King Rumanika of Karagwah, he might have
visited it, but he did not. He then turned nearly due north, and on
January 28th, 1862, he first viewed, from Mashonde, a water which he
instinctively determined to be _the_ Nyanza. In vain the petty chief
Makaka (Journal, p. 130) assured him that ‘there were two lakes, and
not one’: as vainly others made the Mwerango, or Kafu river, rise
from a range in the centre of the so-called lake, and ‘did not know
what Nyanza he meant.’ These, and other remarks naïvely recorded,
could not disperse foregone conclusions; and the explorer never
attempted to ascertain by inspection if his preconceived ideas were
correct.
We can therefore accept only the southern part of the Nyanza
discovered by Capt. Speke, when I despatched him from Kazeh; and the
marshy reed-margined and probably shallow N. Western water, which he
sighted in January and July, 1862. The result is a blank occupying
nearly 29,900 square miles, and of the recognized and official form
of the assumed Victoria Nyanza I may observe, that it is a triangle,
whose arms, viewed by one standing at the southern apex, trended N.
East and N. West; the extremities, 240 miles distant, being
connected arbitrarily by a horizontal base running nearly due
East-West a little north of the Equator. Finally, Captain Speke made
his own lake a physical impossibility. Within little more than 60
miles from east to west he has given it three main effluents, the
Mwerango, the Luajerri, and the Nile or Napoleon channel, to say
nothing of the Myo Myanza, the Murchison Creek, the Usoga stream,
together with the Asúa river from the Baringo. It is wonderful that
our 19th century maps continue to print such a phenomenon. What will
posterity say of this magnum opus?
After Captain Speke’s return we debated, in frequent conferences
with the Arabs, the advisability of remaining at Kazeh till fresh
supplies could be procured from Zanzibar, thus enabling us to visit
the northern kingdoms—Karagwah, Uganda, and Unyoro. Our good friends
unanimously advised us to reserve the exploration for another
journey. The lake was, unlike the Tanganyika, unnavigated; to travel
along the S. Eastern shores was, they said, impossible owing to the
ferocity of the pastoral tribes, and the mutual jealousies of great
despots on the western banks would necessitate a large outfit, and
perhaps years of delay. Their advice appearing sound, I applied
myself to the ways and means of marching upon Kilwa, thus avoiding a
return by the same road, which led us into Unyamwezi. But as the
former project was dismissed because we could not depend upon
assistance from Zanzibar, so the latter was frustrated by the
unmanageable obstinacy of our porters. I wanted exceptional
resources for bribing them into compliance, and our leave of absence
having ended, it was judged imprudent to attempt that expenditure of
time, which in these regions alone compensates for extensive outlay
of capital.
The East African Expedition bade adieu to Unyanyembe on Sept. 26,
1858, and after a march eventless except in delays and difficulties
caused by desertion and sickness, by the drought and the famine then
desolating the land, it reached in early February, 1859, the little
maritime village Konduchi. From the slope of red hill we hailed with
delight the first gleam of the Indian Ocean, and my companion
thanked me with effusion for the efforts which I had made in
enabling him to travel with me. Verily ‘there were nights and days
before us,’ and we thought little of what presently was to be the
consequence!
The results of the East African Expedition of 1857–1859, which, with
the aid of many friends—their names will be found in the preceding
pages—was organized wholly by myself, may thus be briefly summed up.
When ignorant of the country and knowing little of its languages,
preceded only by a French officer, who was murdered shortly after he
landed, and under other immense disadvantages, especially the deaths
of Sayyid Said and Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, I led the most
disorderly of caravans into the heart of Intertropical Africa, and
succeeded in discovering the Tanganyika, and the southern portion of
what is now called the Victoria Nyanza Lake. The road was thus
thoroughly laid open: those who would follow me had only to read
vol. xxxi. (Journal of the Royal Geographical Society) and the ‘Lake
Regions of Central Africa,’ to learn all they require concerning
seasons and sickness, industry and commerce, what outfit and
material were necessary, what guides, escort, and porters were
wanted, what obstacles might be expected, and what facilities would
probably offer themselves. My labours thus rendered easy the ingress
of future expeditions, which had only to tread in my steps. Dr Beke,
the traveller who deserves all praise for having suggested a
feasible way to explore the Nile Sources, kindly found ‘reason to
call this emphatically a memorable Expedition.’ My friend Mr
Findlay’s estimate is still more flattering: ‘The first East African
Expedition has had scant justice done to it of late, seeing that it
was the finest harvest, and that by much the most abundant one, of
those brilliant discoveries in Eastern Africa so eminently fostered
by the Royal Geographical Society.’
One wise in his generation whispered into my ear before returning to
England, ‘Boldly assert that you have discovered the source of the
Nile—if you are right, tant mieux, if wrong, you will have made your
game before the mistake is found out!’ I need hardly explain why the
advice was rejected, nor does it befit me to complain that Honesty,
in my case at least, has not hitherto proved the best policy.
Meruisse satis!
* * * * *
Since these lines were penned Time has again proved himself the
Avenger. The valuable notes on the Geography of Eastern Africa
forwarded by Mr Wakefield enable me to show, almost with a
certainty, that the 29,900 square miles assigned as the area to the
‘Victoria Nyanza’ contain at least four, and probably a greater
number, of separate waters.
Mr Keith Johnston, jun., who appended remarks to the paper in
question, observes (p. 333) that ‘the arguments which Captain Burton
used in recommending a division of the Nyanza had not a sufficient
basis of proof to give them moment, is shown by the acceptance of
the lake as one sheet of water by the whole geographical world.’ The
mapper will readily understand that it is much more convenient to
have a lake neatly traced, and painted sky-blue like the Damascus
swamps, than to split it up as I did: a volume published by the late
Mr Macqueen and myself (The Nile Basin. London: Tinsleys, 1864) gave
a sketch of what was actually seen by the second expedition, and the
aspect of disjecta membra is not inviting. Afterwards, however (p.
334), Mr Johnston remarks, ‘Captain Burton’s recommendation would
seem to receive some slight support from the new information
obtained by Mr Wakefield,’ to which I add that the language might
have been less hesitating. The ‘Notes on the Geography of Eastern
Africa’ establish the existence of two new lakes.
The first is that which we named from hearsay, Bahari ya Ngo or
Bahari Ngo (Sea, i. e. water of Ngo): Mr Wakefield prefers ‘Baríngo,
or _canoe_,’ possibly so called from its form.[60] Route No. 5, from
‘Lake Nyanza’ to Lake Baringo, proves conclusively that Lake Baringo
is _not_ a vast salt marsh, or perhaps a sort of back-water,
‘connected with the Victoria Nyanza by a strait, at the same
distance from the East of Ripon Falls as the Katonga river is to the
West.’ Nor is it a lake without effluent: in this matter it has
evidently been confused with the lately heard of saline Lake
Naïrvasha or Balibali, S. West of Doenyo Ebor (Mont Blanc), alias
Kenia. Native report supplies it with the Northern Nyarus, an
outfall, the old Thumbiri or Tubirih, and Meri, afterwards called
Usua, and Asua, the latter two words probably corrupted from Nyarus.
Far more important, however, is the new lake which Mr Wakefield’s
informant, Sadi bin Ahedi, ignoring Nyanza, calls ‘Nyanja’ and
‘Bahari ya Pili,’ or second Sea, not, as we are expressly warned,
because inland of the first sea or Indian Ocean, but clearly because
leading to a first, and, lastly, called ‘Bahari ya Ukára,’ this
being the name of the region on the East shore. Here we at once
detect the origin of the ancient Garava, and the modern Ukerewe
which the Wanyamwezi applied to the oriental portion of the supposed
‘Victoria Nyanza.’ Respecting the width of the Nyanja or Ukára Lake,
Sadi declared that it could be crossed by canoes in 6 full days,
paddling from sunrise to sunset, and that if the men went right on,
night and day, the voyage was accomplished in three days. But the
native craft used upon those dangerous mountain waters never dare to
cross them: the voyager may rush over the narrow parts of the
Tanganyika, but nothing would induce him to attempt the physical
impossibility of navigating without chart or compass beyond reach
and sight of shore. It is an absurdity to suppose a canoe-cruise
across; it is evident that a coasting-cruise is meant. The total
hours, assuming the day to be 12 without halts, would amount to 72.
Upon the Tanganyika I estimated the rate at little more than 2 knots
an hour, which would make in round numbers 140 miles. Protracting
this course from Bahari-ni, Sadi’s terminus on the Eastern shore, at
the rate of 3 knots an hour, and without allowing for the windings
of the shore, the end would strike the entrance of ‘Jordan Nullah,’
off the ‘Bengal Archipelago.’ But even 140 miles require reduction:
an estimate of the mean amount of error distributed over the whole
of Mr Wakefield’s Routes gives an exaggeration of 1.24 : 1; and of
course when laying down the length of these distant and dangerous
cruises exaggeration would be excessive. We may therefore fairly
assume the semi-circumference of the Ukara Lake at 120 miles, and
the total circumference at 240.
As regards its breadth we read (p. 310): ‘Standing on the eastern
shore Sadi said he could descry nothing of land in a western
direction except the very faint outline of a mountain summit far,
far away on the horizon.’ This passage is valuable. The level and
sandy eastern shore of the Ukara or Nyanja Lake about Bahari-ni,
where Sadi sighted it, is in E. long. (G.) 35° 15′. The easternmost,
that is to say, the nearest point of the Karagwah highlands, or, as
Captain Speke writes it, Karague, is in E. long. (G.) 32° 30′. Thus
the minimum width is 165 miles, while man’s vision would hardly
cover a score. Here, again, we have room for a double instead of a
single lake. When Sadi declared that he ‘travelled 60 days
(marches?) along the shore without perceiving any signs of its
termination,’ he spoke wildly, as Africans will, and when he
reported that the natives with whom he conversed were unable to give
him any information about its northern or southern limit, we can
only infer that in those parts of the African interior neither
tribes nor individuals trust themselves in strange lands, especially
when they had a chance of meeting the Wasuku. A lake 120 direct
geographical miles in length, that is to say, a little shorter than
the Baringo is supposed to be, will amply satisfy all requirements
in this matter. Finally, if Sadi’s report be correct, namely, that
eight or nine years ago (before 1867?) a large vessel with sails,
and a crew of white egg-eaters—Africans have learnt by some curious
process to connect Europeans with oöphagy—navigated the waters, it
is evident that this lake cannot be Captain Speke’s Nyanza, and that
the visitors cannot have made it viâ his ‘White Nile,’ with its
immense obstructions. But it may be that of which he heard (Journal,
p. 333) from the ‘Kidi officers,’ who reported a high mountain to
rise behind the Asua (Nyarus?) river, and the existence of a lake
navigated by the Gallas in very large vessels. We now understand why
King Mtesa (p. 294) offered to send the traveller home in one month
by a frequented route, doubtless through the Wamasai and the other
tribes living between the Nyanja and the Nyanza. Thus Irungu, Chief
of Uganda, expressed his surprise (Journal, p. 187) that Captain
Speke had come all the way round to Uganda when he could have taken
the short and safe direct route—across the middle of his lake—viâ
Umasai and Usoga, by which an Arab caravan had travelled.
The third water is evidently the Nyanza, of which I first heard at
Kazeh, whence Captain Speke was despatched on a reconnoitre between
July 9th and August 25th, 1858. After returning, he reported that
this water, being nearly flush with the surface of the level country
to the south, bears signs of overflowing for some 13 miles during
the rains. The second expedition showed no traces of flood on the
marshy lands to the north and N. West of the lake. This fact,
combined with 400 feet difference of level in the surface of the
‘Victoria Nyanza,’ speaks for itself. We are justified in suspecting
a fourth lake, along whose banks Capt. Speke travelled northwards to
Uganda: and there must be more than one, if all his effluents be
correctly laid down.
Briefly to resume. Mr Wakefield’s very valuable notes teach us—
1. That the Baringo is a lake distinct from the ‘Victoria Nyanza,’
with a northern effluent, the Nyarus, and therefore it is fresh
water.
2. That the Nyanja, Ukara, Ukerewe, Garawa, or Bahari ya Pili, is a
long, narrow formation, perhaps 30 miles broad, with 240 miles of
circumference, and possibly drained to the Nile by a navigable
channel.
3. That the Nyanza is a water, probably a swamp, but evidently
distinct from the two mentioned above, flooding the lands to the
south, showing no signs of depth, and swelling during the low season
of the Nile, and vice versâ.
And finally we cannot but conclude that the Northern and N.
Western portions of the so-called ‘Victoria Nyanza’ must be
divided into three independent broads or lakes, one of them
marshy, reed-margined, and probably shallow, in order to account
for the three effluents within a little more than 60 miles.
NOTE.
I have printed, as an Appendix to Volume I., a paper which was read
out by me before the Royal Geographical Society, on Monday, December
11, 1871. It dwells at greater length upon the interesting theme
here sketched, and it enters into certain philological details which
may be interesting to students of Kisawahili.
-----
Footnote 49:
Mr Cooley (Geography, p. 29) informs us that the native porters start
on their down journey ‘in March or April, probably at the end of the
heavy rains, and return in September.’ He thus greatly restricts the
period. Of course the season varies to some extent at every part; but,
as a rule, to March and April add May and June, and for September read
November and December. Dr Krapf is less incorrect (Travels, &c., p.
421); M. Guillain is equally so (vol. iii. 374).
Footnote 50:
The Lake Regions of Central Africa, 2 vols. 8vo. Longmans, 1860.
Memoir on the Lake Regions of Central Equatorial Africa, Journal
of the Royal Geographical Society, 1 vol. No. xxxi. of 1860. The
Nile Basin, 1 vol. Tinsleys. London, 1869.
Footnote 51:
Journal of the Discovery of the Source of the Nile. Blackwood,
1863. What led to the Discovery of the Source of the Nile.
Blackwood, 1864. A Walk across Africa, by Capt. Grant. Blackwood,
1864. The papers inform me that Captain now Col. Grant, C. B., is
engaged upon a botanical work which will illustrate the valuable
collection brought home by him in 1863.
Footnote 52:
The first expedition placed Kazeh in E. long. (G.) 33° 3′ 0″
The second ” ” ” 33 1 34
——— ——— ———
Difference 0 1 26
——— ——— ———
The first expedition placed Ujiji in E. long. (G.) 30° 0’ 0″
The second ” ” ” 29 54 30
——— ——— ———
Difference 0 5 30
These close results place Captain Speke’s positions beyond all
possibility of cavil.
Footnote 53:
In Mr Wakefield’s routes (loc. cit.) we find ‘To
Mtanganyíko.—Kisáwahílí, meaning the place of _mingling_ or
_mixture_ (rendezvous).’ I cannot, however, but suspect that the
word is a misprint for Mtanganyika. At any rate it will completely
support my assertions versus Mr Cooley and the town of Zanganica,
where no such things as towns exist.
Footnote 54:
Mr Cooley (p. 13, Memoir of the Lake Regions of East Africa
reviewed) declares that ‘the name Warua is the Sawáhily equivalent
of Milúa, and that the Miluana, as the Awembe are also called,
signifies mixed or half-bred Milúa;’ he moreover identifies them
with the ‘Alunda, who, with the Arungo, including apparently the
Wakatata or Wakatanga, are all Wathembwe or subjects of the
Cazembe.’ He finds that I have written Uruwwa, ‘with greater show
of originality and rigorous Arabism,’ the fact being that I wrote
down what the Arabs told me. Col. J. A. Grant (Athenæum, April 9,
1870) identifies Uruwwa with Dr Livingstone’s Rua, where tribes
live ‘in under-ground houses said to be 30 miles long.’
Footnote 55:
Mr Findlay remarks, ‘The length of the Nile’s course from
Gondokoro to its mouth, following its major winding, is about 2400
geog. miles (= 2780 British miles). From Gondokoro, near to which
it was generally agreed, ten years ago, that the southernmost head
of the Nile would be found, to the south end of the Tanganyika
Lake, is 830 geog. miles (= 960 British miles). If the source be
near the Muxinga range, it must be 270 geog. miles (= 312 British
miles) still farther south, so that its total course will be 3500
geog. (= 4050 British) miles, almost unparalleled by any other
river’ (loc. cit. note. p. 16).
Footnote 56:
‘A map of the Lake Regions of Eastern Africa, showing the Sources
of the Nile recently discovered by Dr Livingstone, with Notes on
the Exploration of this Region, its physical Features, Climate,
and Population.’ London, 1870.
Footnote 57:
The Sources of the Nile (p. 83). London: Madden, 1860.
Footnote 58:
This word means a lake or pond, not the ‘river of the lake.’ Its
plural is not Wáziwa—wa being the animate prefix—but Maziwa (e. g.
Maziwa Mengi, many lakes). It is not used by the Wasawahili to
signify the south. An Arab would not make the plural Ziwáhah (but
Ziwát or Ziwáín, if he attempted such barbarism); nor would he
want to use the adjective ‘Ziwáí.’ These five errors occur in as
many lines. (Geography of N’yassi, 24, 25.)
Footnote 59:
Yet, curious to say, the map of May, 1858, was drawn from hearsay,
and that of June, 1859, after the southern part of the lake
region, now known as the ‘Victoria Nyanza,’ had been discovered by
Capt. Speke. In the former, however, he added the ‘Mountains of
the Moon,’ and prolonged the long parallelogram from N. lat. 2° to
N. lat. 3° 20′, a country known by the reports of the Egyptian
expedition of 1840, of Dr Peney, and of MM. Miami and Vincent
Angelo.
Footnote 60:
This birds-eye view and comprehensive idea of shape regarding a
feature so considerable does not appear to me African.
CHAPTER XI.
TO KILWA, THE END OF THE EAST AFRICAN
EXPEDITION (1857–1859).
‘Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps Honour bright: to have done is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery.’—TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
The Zanzibar coast was, at the time of our return to it, in a very
uncomfortable state. Cholera, for the first time, had swept
southwards from Arabia, decimating the East African population
between Unguja and Kilwa. Political troubles were rife, within as
well as from without. Sayyid Suwayni, pretexting unpaid arrears of
tribute, was reported to be embarking a host of Bedawin brigands
upon five ships and sundry Arab craft. It was an act of madness,
with cholera and small-pox on board; and, the coast not being open
for provisions and water, the invaders, even if left to themselves,
were safe to succumb by dribblets. Yet not the less were the Baloch
stations drained of mercenaries, whilst 7000 muskets, with an amount
of ammunition which made the city dangerous, were distributed to the
slaves and other ruffians. Daus ran down from Hadramaut crowded with
armed adventurers, all in the market to fight for the best pay.
Sayyids Jamshid and Hamdan, two of the young princes, had died of
small-pox, which killed the rich as cholera carried off the poor.
Sayyid Barghash, another brother of the Prince regnant, and now his
successor, becoming Yaghi (rebellious), made a demonstration at the
Palace gate with a herd of black musketeers: the Súri Arabs,
however, armed themselves, and the serviles fled into the sea,
throwing away weapons and ammunition. Sayyid Sulayman was on the
square, but the turbulent Harisi chiefs held a review of 2000 black
musketeers, and 200 ‘light bobs’ carrying bows and arrows: they
maintained an attitude of armed neutrality which threatened mischief
to the weaker of the rival brothers. Trade was paralyzed, the
foreign merchants lost severely, not less than 80 native craft from
Bombay and the North were still expected at the end of the season;
and, to complete the confusion, the coast suddenly became subject to
the action of ‘l’Émigration libre.’
Despite the untoward situation, I still resolved to visit Southern
Zanzibar, and to explore, if fortune would favour us, the Nyassa, or
Kilwa Lake. The first step was to dismiss from Konduchi the Baloch
guard and the ‘Sons of Ramji:’ the monocular Jemadar shed
crocodile-tears as he and his mob departed, begging gunpowder; and
my heart felt lighter than it had during many a day. By a casual
boat, I wrote to Zanzibar for drugs and medical comforts,
necessaries and supplies, and lastly for a vessel engaged at the
Consulate to sail down along shore.
During the six days of delay at Konduchi we occupied a neat hut
under the care of the Diwan, ‘Mtu Mku Wambele’ and the good Banyan
Premji. We strengthened ourselves by high living, by sea-baths, and
by shower-baths in the heavy rain; and we had another hard tussle
with the hippopotamus. The nights were remarkably fresh and
comfortable; the day-sky was milky white, and a glance at the cool
celadon colour of the islet-studded sea was itself a refrigerant. We
found nothing remarkable in the village, another Sa’adani: its site
is the usual glaring white sand-strip, setting off tall cocoas, that
wave in the fine sea-breeze, and mangroves bathed by the flood
tides. The coast-colours contrast well with the red ochreous earth
of the Mrima, two steep raised beaches which back the jungly flat,
and command a view of Zanzibar Island.
One day we were surprised by the abrupt entrance of a youth,
eminently North German in aspect, with sandy hair, smooth face, and
protruding eyes, flat occiput and projecting ears. He announced
himself as Dr Albrecht Roscher, of Hamburg, and he made himself
doubly welcome by bringing from Zanzibar the wished-for supplies,
letters, and newspapers—for 18 months we had not looked upon a white
face save the Albino, or a new print in any form but that of a Low
Church tract.
The traveller, who appeared at most 22, applied himself forthwith
to the magnetic survey, for which he had been engaged by the
Prussian Government. A visit to Mozambique, and a run up coast,
had taught him everything learnable about East Africa. He despised
the dangers of climate, against which he was cautioned: having
hitherto escaped fever, he held himself malaria-proof, and he
especially derided our advice about not wandering over the country
unarmed. He lauded to the skies his fellow-townsman Dr Barth. He
severely criticised Dr Livingstone; he patronized, in a comical
way, Herr Petermann; he highly extolled his own book;[61] and he
wrote to Zanzibar—so we afterwards heard—a far from flattering
estimate of our qualifications as travellers. He stayed with us
two days, and then departed northwards, intending to make Mbweni,
the Booamy or Bovamee of Dr Krapf, the village at the mouth of the
Panga-ni river. Thence he crossed to Zanzibar Island, and, after
scant preparations, he landed at Kilwa: in 1859 he marched through
Uhiao upon the Nyassa water. He reached it after long delays,
caused by almost constant illness, on November 19, 1859, about two
months after Dr Livingstone, who first saw it on Sept. 16. As he
was walking without weapons, two of his four Africans shot their
arrows into his back. This happened in S. lat. 12° 40′, and at a
short distance from the lake’s eastern shore. The assassins were
sent in irons to Zanzibar by the chief of the country, who feared
retribution, and on August 23rd, 1860, Captain Grant saw them
beheaded outside the Fort.
On February 10, 1859, we set sail in the shabbiest of Batelas with a
cabin like a large drawer, hot as a native hut, and full of vermin.
The skipper had neglected to lay in wood and ballast, we heeled over
unpleasantly, and the drinking water stood in an open cask, no joke,
considering that the action of a special infectant was to be feared,
and that the germs of cholera poison are so easily conveyed in
liquids and in dust. Two of the ‘sons of water’ at once died of the
disease, two others were taken ill, and Caetano appeared to be
sickening. The latter recovered, but after three days our crew of
seven was reduced to three, including one, Taufiki, who survived the
attack, and who regained health at Kilwa. We could do nothing but
bury the unfortunates, so sudden and foudroyant were the attacks,
and the scanty personnel was not good for much amongst bad reefs.
Our course lay past the settlements of Msásáni and Mágogoni and the
little Mbwezi river to Mbuámáji, ‘rain water,’ in the Mission map
called Mburomaji, and vulgarly Boromaji. The little port-village
with jungle rolling up to the walls, and anchorage defended by the
Sinda Islets, is a favourite entrance to the East African interior.
South of this point the coast people are called Watu wa Rufiji, or
Rufiji folk. The next night was passed in an open roadstead off Rási
ya Ndege—Bird Point—the S. Western portal of the Zanzibar channel, a
well-wooded red rise. We then coasted along a low and forested shore
sighting Ra’as Kimbizi and Point Puna, which can hardly be called
Point or Cape. Khwale (partridge) Island, a link in the long chain
of little ‘inches’[62] which runs parallel with the coast to Kilwa,
showed the usual physiognomy, coralline ledges, yellow sands, and
tufted verdant trees: the pretty little patch is said to abound in
hippos. Koma, the next inhabited islet, gave us a few cocoas, but no
game; the people, serviles from Kilwa, would not answer our
questions without bakhshish. The next day saw us fighting against a
strong northerly current, and a sharp struggle was required to make
the Kisima-ni (the well of) Máfiyah.[63]
The watering-place lies on the westernmost point of Mafiyah, in our
maps Monfia, and not to be pronounced with Mr Cooley ‘Mofiji;’ it is
the longest island in the Southern Archipelago of the Zangian Seas,
and ranking after Zanzibar and Pemba. The anchorage was smooth and
deep, allowing the largest ships to ride in safety, and the abysses
around it are as usual unfathomed. Pits a few hundred yards from the
sea supply the casks with water of a quality somewhat better than
usual. The tree-clad island is flat and sandy; its growth is by no
means so luxuriant as that of its greater sisters, and the
population appears to be scanty. We saw no wild animals but a black
monkey and a guinea-fowl. The mean breadth of the Manche is here 9
miles,[64] and the bottom is said to be very foul.
Opposite Mafiyah lies the Delta of the Rufiji, Lufiji, or Ufiji
river, the Loffih, Luffia, or Loffia of older maps, which was made
by them to issue from a great lake: it is a reduced copy of the
Zambeze farther south, and a waterway worth exploring, as possibly
the future high road of nations into Eastern Africa. The people
declare that boats can ascend it for a month, and larger craft for a
week—this appears, however, doubtful. The stream, then flooding,
overflowed its banks, and its line was marked by heavy purple nimbi
with hangings and curtains of grey rain. We anchored off Sumanga, an
open roadstead, about four miles south of the embouchure: here the
land is low, and the village, on account of the high tides, is built
a good mile from the water. It contains some large huts, and the
people supplied us with milk, rice, sugar, and custard apples.
Cattle, though plentiful, is subject, they say, to murrain, and must
often change air. Here probably the Tsetse fly is common, as at
Kilwa, where I found a fine specimen, afterwards deposited in the
British Museum. At that time its habitat was unduly limited
northward to the Valley of the Zambeze river: in after years I met
with it upon the coast of Guinea, and MM. Antinori and Piaggia
observed it amongst the Jurs of the Upper Nile, whilst Sir Samuel
Baker saw it in the country of the ‘Latookas,’ 110 miles east of
Gondokoro (N. lat. 4° 55′). It will probably be found scattered in
patches, especially of lowland virgin-forest, throughout
Intertropical Africa.
M. Guillain, again by solely considering distance, would place
Rhapta, ‘the last mart of Azania,’ at the ‘embouchure de l’Oufidji;’
while the older geographers prefer Kilwa. Ptolemy, I have said,
mentions three places of that name, to the north a river in E. long.
72° and S. lat. 7°; a city in E. long. 71° and S. lat. 7°, therefore
lying up stream and one degree to the west, and lastly the Rhapta
Promontory, in E. long. 73° 30′ 20″ and S. lat. 8° 20′ 5″. I believe
them, for reasons given in vol. I. chap. v., to be the Rufiji river,
Old Kilwa, and Cape Delgado. Local tradition preserves no trace of
an emporium lying up the stream, nor would so exposed a locality
have been chosen by the older traders, who invariably preferred the
shelter of islands. Dr Livingstone (near Lake Bangweolo, South
Central Africa, July, 1868) proposes the Rovuma—so he writes the
word Rufuma—as the probable position of Ptolemy’s river Rhapta. This
has the same disadvantage as the Rufiji—it places an important point
or points at an unimportant site.
We had no sweeps to make head against the river, even for a few
miles, and all dissuaded us from attempting exploration at this
season. According to the Banyan Jetha, who declared that he had
lived 20 years hereabouts, the stream takes its name from the Rufiji
village, a little way up its course. He moreover asserted that some
15 days ago a Banyan had been plundered when travelling to the
interior, that the Washenzi (savages) were dangerous, and nowise
under the authority of Zanzibar; and, finally, that white men would
want letters from the Wali of Kilwa, addressed to three Diwans in
the Rufiji village B’ánás Hasi, Kangayya and Furiyya, with two
up-country sultans, Monga and Dumbo.
The next feature was the low islet of Chole, rich in cattle and
hippos: here the Mtepe-craft is superiorly made, as are also the
Chinese-like dish covers (Káwá) of dyed and plaited straw. It was
followed by the comparatively large and inhabited island,
Songo-Songo—the Songa-Songa of M. Rebmann. Here I heard one of the
men use a Persian phrase with Kisawahili termination—‘Tumbak nísti’
(for níst), there is no tobacco: it reminded me of a Kentish woman
threatening to ‘frap’ her child. Thence about noon (Feb. 15) we
sighted Kilwa Kivinjya. It lies at bottom of a broad shallow bay
broken by juttings from the land, and backed by high rolling ground,
cleared for mashamba and orange orchards. The mangrove-belted sea
ebbs about half a mile, and flows right up to the buildings: we ran
close in, and before the tide was out we propped ourselves, like our
neighbours, with strong poles.
Captain Owen learned, considerably to his mortification, that there
were two Kilwas—he might have said half-a-dozen. The name, by the
people generally called Kirwa, but never Kulwa as in Ibn
Batuta—probably a clerical error—was originally applied to the
island; now it is that of a district, not of a place. Hence we find
in Abu Saíd (13th cent.) the Island of Kilwa containing three
cities, all built upon the banks of rivers. The settlements are
separated by Khírán, or salt-water inlets, stretching through
mangrove-swamps, which often extend many miles inland. Native
vessels enter and quit them with the flow, and remain high and dry
at the ebb, whilst cutting wood and making salt. Upon the N. West of
the Bay, distant about five miles, is Majinjera, streamlet and
settlement, of which Mr Cooley erroneously says, ‘It is the island
commonly known as Kilwa.’[65] It is separated by a promontory from
its neighbours, Ugoga, Mayungi-yungi, and Kivafi or Kivavi: hence
doubtless the Cuavo of Pigafetta, the ’Fiume Coavo che sbocca a
Quiloa created by Giovanni Botero, and the Suabo supposed to have a
common origin with the Zambezean Shire. It is the Geographer of
N’yassi’s imaginary Quavi, or river of Kilwa, a branch of the
Lufiji, and ‘reported to descend from the Zébé, that is Ziwa in
Sawâhili, or the Lake.’ But unhappily there is no Kilwa river, any
more than a ‘Mombas river.’ The fabled stream is a mere ‘Khor,’ like
that near the Mayungi-yungi village,[66] and a surface drain running
for a few miles. The next and the most important is Kilwa Kivinjya,
or Mgongeni, in the map Kibendji, and Kevingi in the ‘Geographer,’
who erroneously calls it Old Kilwa, whereas it was built (in S. lat.
8° 42′ 59″) by the Islanders when flying from the fleet of the late
Sayyid Said. Adjoining this to the south is Tekwiri (not Tekiri),
the Tekewery of Owen and the Tikewery of Horsburg: here are the
ruins of an older Kilwa. Lastly, and about 12 direct geographical
miles farther south (S. lat. 8° 57′ 12″), is Kilwa Kisiwá-ni, the
island upon which remnants of mosques and other buildings are found:
the Geographer confounds it with Tekiri. Such are the half-dozen
settlements which have in turn been known as Kilwa, a name confined
in modern days to Kivinjya.
Kivinjya, the settlement, is surrounded by mangrove-swamps, with
scatters of tall cocoas, which the wind snubs. The long narrow line,
disposed somewhat in Brazilian style, shows nothing but country
huts, except a large masonry-built Custom House called a Fort. There
is a bazar garnished with the usual shops, which supply amongst
other things Epsom salts, empty bottles, peppermint water, and Eau
de Cologne. The prices were high—here the rupee becomes a dollar: we
were asked 0.75 cents for a common umbrella worth 0.30, and $2.50
for 12 cubits of domestics. Provisions were scarcely procurable,—two
ships lying in the offing had raised lean chickens from six to three
per dollar; sheep are here brought from the Rufiji river, goats from
the Washenzi of the interior, and black cattle from Chole Island.
The once wealthy and important trade of Kilwa is now in the hands of
a few Arabs, 53 Hindus, and about 100 Hindostanis—Kojahs, Mehmans,
and Borahs. Of the Banyans none had died by cholera: the Indian
Moslems had lost 11 or 12. An old Hindostani kindly housed us in a
neat, clean dwelling with matted floor, white mattresses rolled up
in the corners, black-wood writing-desks in the niches, pictures of
men with gigantic moustaches on the walls, an old wooden clock still
ticking, and two noble tusks of Uhiao ivory, bearing the purchaser’s
mark. The tenement was not so pleasant outside: it was invested with
a mass of filth, the sea washed up impurities to the very palisades,
and farther out the bay-water was covered with a brown scum of
sickening taint. We were presently visited by the very civil and
obliging Wali, Sayf bin Ali, an old traveller to Unyamwezi: the
people being greatly demoralized, he ordered our lodgings to be
guarded at night. Yarok, the Jemadar of Baloch, also confided to us
his desire of becoming C. O.: the step was vacant by cholera, and
many of his men had lost the number of their mess.
After seeing and smelling Kilwa I did not wonder that cholera during
the last 15 days had killed off half the settlement. According to
the people, it was the first attack ever known to East Africa: that
which decimated Maskat in July, 1821, did not extend to Zanzibar.
They agreed that it came down in vessels from Zanzibar: all held it
highly infectious, as indeed under the circumstances it certainly
was; hands would not ship on board our Batela, and at first no one
would even visit us. They declared the disease to be dying out, yet
the wealthier classes still clung to their mashamba, where the water
is good and clean as it is filthy in the towns; and hyænas walked
the streets at night.
Accustomed to face cholera since my childhood, I never saw even in
Italy, in India, or in Sind, such ravages as it committed at Kilwa.
Soil and air seemed saturated with poison, the blood appeared
predisposed to receive the influence, and the people died like
flies. Numbers of patients were brought to us, each with the ominous
words, ‘He has the death;’ and none hardly had energy to start or
wince at what would under other conditions have frightened them out
of their senses. They sometimes walked two miles to see us; the only
evil symptoms were dull congested eyes, cold breath, and a thready
feeble pulse, which in the worst cases almost refused to beat. After
the visit they would return home on foot, lie down and expire in a
collapse, without cramps or convulsions, emesis, or other effort of
nature to relieve herself. Life seemed to have lost all its hold
upon them. Of course we were the only doctors, and our small stock
of ether and brandy were soon exhausted; the natives, however,
treated the complaint sensibly enough with opium and Mvinyo, spirits
locally distilled, and did not, like the Anglo-Indian surgeon,
murder patients with mercury, the lancet, and the chafing-dish.
There were hideous sights about Kilwa at that time. Corpses lay in
the ravines, and a dead negro rested against the walls of the Custom
House. The poorer victims were dragged by the leg along the sand, to
be thrown into the ebbing waters of the bay; those better off were
sewn up in matting, and were carried down like hammocks to the same
general depôt. The smooth oily water was dotted with remnants and
fragments of humanity, black and brown when freshly thrown in,
patched, mottled, and parti-coloured when in a state of half pickle,
and ghastly white, like scalded pig, when the pigmentum nigrum had
become thoroughly macerated. The males lay prone upon the surface,
diving as it were, head downwards, when the retiring swell left them
in the hollow water; the women floated prostrate with puffed and
swollen breasts—I have lately seen this included amongst ‘vulgar
errors.’ Limbs were scattered in all directions, and heads lay like
pebbles upon the beach: here I collected the 24 skulls afterwards
deposited in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, and which
it is said (Journal Anthro. Soc. No. 28, xli.) Professor Busk is now
investigating. They were gathered at random; doubtless they belonged
to both sexes, and they represented chiefly the slave population.
The latter is here mainly recruited by the Wahiao, the Wagao, the
Wamwera, the Wangindo, the Makonda, the Wakomango, the Wadoka, the
Wakhwinde, and the other tall stout races lying between Kilwa and
the Nyassa Lake. It will not be easy to forget one spectacle,—the
lower portion of some large strong man, whose legs had parted at the
knees, came again and again, persistent as the flood, up to the very
walls of our dwelling, and bowing with the ripple, it seemed to
claim acquaintance with us.
There was no subsequent attack of cholera on the Zanzibar coast till
early 1870, when one-third of the native population was reported to
have been swept away. In six weeks, besides 13 out of the score
which composed the European and American residents at Unguja, 10,000
people perished in the city, 30,000 on the Island: at Kilwa there
were 200 daily deaths amongst the slaves, and the survivors found no
purchasers at $1 a head. This visitation is supposed to have come
from the interior, appearing first at Panga-ni; yet, curious to
relate, it again went inland viâ Bagamoyo, and extended to Ugogo,
where ivory was left on the road and caravans were stopped by ‘the
death.’
Kilwa makes from £5000 to £20,000 per annum by the tax upon wild
slaves. The market is supplied chiefly by the tribes living about
the Nyassa Lake, the Wahiáo, as I have said, being preferred to all
others, and some may march for a distance of 400 miles. After this
long journey they reach the coast where they exported in the
following numbers, according to the Custom House of Kivinjya:—
1862-3 exported to Zanzibar and elsewhere—
13,000 5500
1863-4 14,000 3500
1864-5 13,821 3000
1865-6 18,344 4000
1866-7 17,538 4500
—————— —————
76,703 20,500
20,500
——————
Total 97,203 exported from Kilwa to
Zanzibar in five years.
Year ending August 23, 1869, exported, 14,944.
The next process is either the short voyage in Daus or native craft
to Zanzibar Island, or the long passage to Turkish Arabia, the Red
Sea, Persia, and the N. Zangian coast. At present they make some
half the journey without being molested by British cruisers, but
this portion of the treaty will probably be modified. Slaves
liberated from the Daus were—and are still—taken to the Seychelles,
a dependency of the Mauritius, or to Aden and Bombay, at a heavy
cost to the Imperial Exchequer. The mortality of the captives on the
march, throughout Africa as far as my knowledge extends, is
immensely overrated, except in case of cholera or small-pox, at 1 :
5, or even 1 : 10. The fact is, that the mortality on the
Kilwa-Nyassa line is excessive, because the negroes fight, and the
‘chattels’ run away. Where I am personally acquainted with it the
loss of slaves on the down-march does not exceed that of freemen,
and the latter when poor have less chance than the valuable
property.
In the outer roads, at the time of our visit, lay a French six-gun
schooner, l’Estafette, with loose rigging, no flamme, and only one
white face visible on deck. ‘Frenchman good only to steal men,’ said
the people of Kilwa: the vessel, however, was escorting a ‘free
emigrant ship,’ in plain English, a slaver, which rode three miles
out, and which was taking in ‘casimir noir’ for Bourbon. Many of the
crew braved the danger of cholera, and came on shore. I saw the
captain, and was not a little surprised when recognizing him some
years afterwards on his own quarterdeck during a voyage to ——. He
hinted that the spec. had been of the best that he had ever made,
and no wonder. During the death-in-life above described Banyans and
Baloch, Arabs and Africans, all began to sell their surviving
slaves, and an A. B. adult could be bought for a maximum of $6—‘what
a price for the noblest work of God!’ Kidnapping was also
common,—three men were shown to me who had lately escaped from
Angazijeh or Great Comoro.
A few words upon ‘free labour,’ the latest and most civilized form
of slavery in East and West Africa. The Imperial Government,
doubting nothing, authorized their colonies of Bourbon, Mayotte, and
Nosi-bé to import from East Africa the Coolies, whom we export from
Western India to the Mauritius. The plan was weak: constrained free
labour is a contradiction, and the system was foully perverted by
the people of Bourbon, at that time the least worthy, perhaps, of
the colonies of France. They required a total of 100,000 head to
begin with, and a biennial item of 10,000 for contingencies. Within
18 months about 47,000 were embarked for the African coasts, and the
free emigration was managed thus wise. Slave owners taught their
chattels a nod of assent to every question proposed, and brought
them before the French agent, who, in his own tongue, asked the
candidate if he was willing to serve as a free labourer for so many
years. A ‘bob’ and a scratch upon a contract-paper consigned the
emigrant to a ship anchored so far out that he could not save
himself by swimming. The freemen sometimes threw themselves
overboard, with the idea that once in the sea they would be carried
back to their country: under these circumstances, the older slavers
used mostly to shoot them in the water. The modern style of
levanting was tried at Aden with great success by the Somal, who
swim like fishes. The ouvrier libre was at once put in irons till
the hour for sailing came. The usual price of slaves being on the
coast $7 to $10, the agents satisfied the trader by paying $14: the
scruples of the Portuguese governors were quieted by the usual fee,
equivalent to the value of the purchase, and four additional crowns
were distributed amongst the Custom House officers. Thus the total
price of the engagé freeman was $32 (= £6 5s.). Arrived at Bourbon,
Messieurs les Sauvages were politely informed that they were no
longer slaves, and they were at once knocked down to the highest
bidder. They were worked 15 or 16 hours a day; their pay was $2 per
mensem, hardly sufficient to support life; and when they fell sick
their miserable pittance was cut. The expiration of the
engagement-period found them heavily in debt, without the hope of
working off their liabilities; and seven years of hard labour at
Bourbon might be considered almost certain death. When the idea of
travailleurs libres was detailed to the Sayyid Said, he treated it
as a mauvaise plaisanterie: the coast people also unanimously
rejected the liberal offer of free men becoming slaves for $2 a
month. The French Consul, M. de Beligny, was at first strongly
opposed to the system: a few weeks at Bourbon changed, it seems, his
opinion. His successor, M. Ladislas Cochet, energetically and
conscientiously rejected all compromise. Bourbon might easily supply
herself with Coolies, as the Mauritius does, by paying $4 per
mensem, by treating the labourer well, and by ordering him a passage
home after three or four years, whether in debt or not. It was,
however, I believe, a mistake on our part to purchase the putting
down of this system by permitting the French to enlist Coolies in
Hindostan. This country wants every hand born within its limits:
strangers viewing the densely crowded ports, the capitals, the chief
cities and their neighbourhoods, are apt to believe the vast and
wealthy peninsula over-populated, when it abounds in tracts of
primeval forest, through which a man may march a fortnight without
seeing a human being. Our first duty is evidently to the land which
belongs to us.
I was the more careful minutely to report the free emigration system
on account of an egregious deceit successfully passed off upon one
of our officials. In 1856 a certain M. Lambert, agent at Aden for
the house of Messrs Menon, Lambert, et Com^{ie}, of the Mauritius
Steam Navigation Company, persuaded the Political Resident,
Lieut.-Colonel Coghlan, that Zanzibar annually exported 49,000
slaves to Berberah, Zayla, Tajurrah, and the ports of Arabia and
Southern Asia. This more than doubled the greatest number annually
imported into the Island: and the latter no longer publicly exported
slave-cargoes, although many ran away to seek fortune in India,
whilst far more were kidnapped by the northern Arabs. In fact, it
confounded Zanzibar Island with the whole coast of Eastern Africa,
whose ports, especially those about Kilwa, were supported almost
wholly by the slave trade. Lieut.-Colonel Coghlan had been long
enough at Aden to know that Berberah, Zayla, and Tajurrah are
slave-exporting as well as importing markets, and that every native
craft sailing up coast always declares itself to be from ‘the
Sawáhil,’ or, if that word be not understood, from Zanzibar. At the
time when my first report was written an agent of the same Messrs
Lambert was waiting passage at Kilima-ni with 1000 travailleurs
libres: many of the wretches had died of the famine which had
devastated the southern coast, and the speculator complained that he
had lost $20,000 to $30,000. The same M. Lambert, in 1857, visited
Tananarive, persuading poor Madame Ida Pfeiffer to accompany him:
his object was not so much to ‘depose,’[67] as to dispose of, the
old Queen, who was to be succeeded by a person more amenable to
Christianity and French influence: the premature discovery of the
plot caused the death of the lady who twice journeyed round the
world. She had proposed accompanying me to the Lake Regions; but to
travel with a grandmother would have been too compromising. Another
grandmother volunteered from India; in fact, it appeared then my
fate to have fallen upon grandmothers.
The ‘emigration’ had been strictly forbidden by the Imperial
Government between her colonies and Madagascar. But ‘Delhi is
distant.’ Lately (1857) a Bourbon ship, commanded by a French
captain, touched at Boyannah Bay to embark 100 engagés, and took on
board some 87 Sakalawas, who had been stolen from the interior.
These men rose up whilst the commander was on shore completing his
tale, murdered the crew, beheaded and quartered the captain’s son, a
mere boy, ran the ship upon a reef, and escaped. Even since that
massacre another French ship from Nosi-bé sailed for Boyannah Bay
and its ill-omened vicinity.
The climate of Kilwa is bad and depressing: the people appeared to
suffer from severe sores, and their aspect was eminently
unhealthy—want of cleanliness is undoubtedly part cause. All
complain that the air is dry[68] and costive, producing frequent
agues and fevers, that sleep is heavy, not sound, and that in the
morning they awake unrefreshed. Our small ailments increased, and
my companion’s sight became much weaker. After a fine cool breeze,
like that of the S. West monsoon, on the night of February 17
burst a furious storm, with large-dropped rains, more violent than
during the regular wet season; the lightning was unusually pink
(the effect of excessive nitrogen ?), the thunder seemed to roll
close upon the roof, and the wind blew in the bamboo lattices of
our dwelling-place. The outburst subsided on the morning of the
18th; the sky, however, remained overcast, and did not allow an
observation of the sun. On the next day there were two fierce
gales, with raw gusts strong enough to swamp a boat, and when they
ended the weather became close and muggy with occasional chilling
blasts. Heavy clouds ran before the wind, and steady rain set in
from the south: the change of weather seemed to modify the
cholera, and the health of the town at once improved.
On February 20 we proceeded to inspect the ruins of ancient Kilwa
Kisimá-ni. A fine crisp breeze carried us out of the fetid harbour,
through the floating carcases, and the larger craft that lay about a
mile and a half from the land. The bay is here planted with four or
five extensive Wigo, or fish weirs, stockades submerged at high
tide, and detaining the fish when the waters ebb. The people of
Kilwa are ichthyophagists, and the slaves usually bring the supply
at 3 P. M. in their little Ngarawas; now, however, the fishermen are
dead, and the citizens avoid eating what is supposed to prey upon
Mizoga, or carrion.
We hugged the shore to get dead water: here, according to the
pilots, during the N. East monsoon there is a current setting to the
east, and this trend, during the S. West monsoon, is deflected to
the N. West. After expending six hours upon the 12.25 miles south of
mainland Kilwa, we reached the Island, and landed on the N. Western
side to inspect the Fort. An inscription over the entrance dates it
from Muharram 23, A. H. 1231, therefore only 44 years old (1857);
but evidently, like those of Unguja and Chak Chak, it is a
Portuguese foundation restored. The building is now a mere dickey,
with three shells of towers standing, and the fourth clean gone; the
bastions are crenellated in the Arab fashion, and one has a
port-hole for cannon. A few long iron carronades, possibly
Lusitanian, lay upon the ground, and the entrance was shaded by a
noble ‘Persian Almond,’ large leaved as the Almendreiras (Sterculiæ)
which adorn Pernambuco.[69] Huge sycamores and tamarisks were
scattered around, and the luxuriant vegetation had in places
breached the defences; the trees shaded the huts, and the carpeted
earth benches upon which the Baloch garrison lolled and played at
Báo—cups and counters.
As the next morning was windless, we set out in a four-oared boat to
visit the western shore of the Island. The latter is a low flat
breakwater of sand and coralline about five miles long, defending a
fine deep sea-arm, land-locked on both sides: the entrance is from
east to west. The northern arm has only seven to eight feet depth,
ships therefore must prefer Pactolus Gap between Kilwa Island and
Songo Mnárá. On the Barr el Moli, or mainland at the bottom of the
bay to the south, is the Mavuji Creek, so called from the district
through which it passes, and higher up, where hippopotami are
numerous, it receives the Mtera streamlet. Ten days’ marching
southwards (about 120 direct geographical miles) lead to the Rufuma
river.[70] The path crosses ‘Kitarika,’ a ridge of highland, to
which extend the plantations of the Shirazi Wasawahili, who are here
mixed with the Wamachinga tribe.
We found the shallow waters off the Island shore lined with Wigos,
weeds, and mangroves, in which sandy breaks represented the old
Bandars or ports. Southwards, at the bottom of the bay, appeared the
islet of Sánje Kati, and opposite lay the Mlango, or gate where the
depth diminishes from 80 to 6 fathoms, and leads to Sánje Májoma.
This may be the Changa of the Kilwa Chronicle, whose ‘King’ Matata
Mandelima expelled in early days Daud, the Sultan of Kilwa. We then
landed again at a gap in the verdure, and ascending a slope of
coralline rock, smooth near the water and rough above, we reached
the sandy shore-line, and thence, turning south through trees and
grass, we came upon the ruins.
The most remarkable are the remnants of the Nabháni mosque, which,
blackened and decayed, represents the 366 of Kilwa Island in her day
of pride: the well-cut gateway, the Mihrab decorated with Persian
tiles, and the vestiges of ghaut-steps, and masonry lining the
shore, showed a considerable amount of civilization. Around it lay
the tombs of the Shirazi Shaykhs, shaped like those of Zanzibarian
Mnazi Moyya, and strewed with small water-washed pebbles. This is an
ancient custom of the country: a few days after the decease small
stones are washed, perfumed, and sun-dried; finally, they are
strewed with prayers upon the tomb. Some travellers have imagined
that they take the place of the defunct’s rosary, which in old days
was devoted to this purpose: it appears to me simply the
perpetuation of a Bedawi practice which dates from the remotest
antiquity. As usual, inscriptions, those landmarks of history, were
wanting. The large old town beyond was even more ruinous than Changa
Ndumi, near Mtangata, and vegetation occupied every dwelling: one of
the mosques is said to have had 360 columns, of which we did not see
a vestige—the trees had filled and buried them all. Another Msikiti
(Masjid) stood deep in mangroves and was flooded by every high tide:
here the islet is sinking, and it may return to its original
condition, a group of three reefs, the southernmost being Songo
Mnárá. The Shirazi fort was a parallelogram about 500 feet each way,
with a curtain loop-holed for musketry, and square bastions—lodgings
for the garrison—at the angles: the entrance was high, the northern
wall was breached, and the interior preserved a dry masonry-revetted
well, 40 feet deep by 2 across. Of these there are several on the
Island: drinking water, however, is usually drawn from pits which
are higher than sea-level. The Governor’s palace, a double-storied
building with torn roof and rafters projecting from the walls,
seemed to contain only corpses indecently buried in shallow graves:
it resembled the relics about Tongo-ni, and doubtless the architects
were of the same race. Kilwa, we are told, was a mass of wooden huts
for some 200 years, till the reign of the Amir Sulayman Hasan, who,
198 to 200 years after Sulayman bin Hasan, built it of stone,
embellished it with mosques, and strengthened it with forts and
towers of coralline and lime.
The cultivators of the many Máshámbá prefer to sleep upon the
mainland, yet here there is no mud: the air is said to be far purer
than that of modern Kilwa, and the only endemic is a mild
Mkunguru—ague and fever. One of the Fungwi or peasants welcomed us
to his hut, and some twenty of his neighbours crowded to ‘interview’
us, and to sell cocoas at the rate of 30 per dollar. They declared
that the cholera had been very destructive, but that its violence
had lately abated: they could not supply us with milk because the
herdsmen were dead. They boasted that none of their race had mixed
with Muhadímo or servile Wasawahili, and without being uncivil, they
were free, and by no means shy, evidently holding that maître
charbonnier est maire chez lui.
In view of the ruins they recounted to us their garbled legendary
history. The Island was originally inhabited by the Wahiao savages,
from whom the present race partly descends, and Songo Mnárá was
occupied by the Wadubuki, a Moslem clan. These were succeeded by the
Nabhani or Ghafiri Arabs, the builders of the mosque just visited,
and in the days of Ibn Batuta (14th cent.) we find that ‘the Sultan
of Oman was of the tribe of Azud, son of El Ghaus, who is known by
the name of Abu Mohammed, son of Nabhan.’ They died out, however,
and left the land once more to the Washenzi. Then came the rule of
the Wagemu, especially the Wasongo, a tribe of Shirazis.[71] A
certain Shaykh Yusuf from Shangaya[72] bought land from Napendu, the
heathen headman, by spreading it over with cloth, built the old
fort, won the savage’s daughter, slew his father-in-law, and became
the sire of a long race of Shirazi ‘Kings of the Zinj.’
The history of Kilwa is probably better known, thanks to its
chronicle found by the Portuguese, than any place on the East coast
of Africa. It is the usual document of Moslems and Easterns, amongst
whom the man reigns, a roster of rulers, with a long string of their
battles, marches, and sudden dethronings. Kilwa was to Southern what
Mombasah was to Northern Zanzibar, a centre of turmoil and trouble.
Founded in our 10th century, and probably upon a far older site, its
rule eventually extended northwards to Mombasah, others say to
Melinde, and south to the gold regions about Sofala. The first
European visitor was Pedralves Cabral, the accidental discoverer of
the Brazil: he anchored here on July 26, 1500. The great port was
then ruled by a certain Sultan Ibrahim, murderer and usurper: the
Shaykhs took the royal title, and were known to the Wasawahili as
Mfalme, a term changed by El Masudi to Oklimen or Oklimin. ‘The
rulers of Zenj,’ says the Nubian Geographer, ‘are entitled Oklimen,
which means the son of the great master, that is to say, the God of
heaven and earth: they call the Creator Tamkalanjalo.’ Cabral was
welcomed by the chief; but his lieges, more perspicacious than their
ruler, began at once to show their ill-will, and the voyager
continued his progress towards India. Kilwa was also visited by João
da Nova, by Vasco da Gama, who on his second journey, in 1502, took
tribute from Sultan Ibrahim, and by Ruy Lourenço Ravasco, when en
route for Zanzibar. In July, 1505, D. Francisco d’Almeyda, first
viceroy of Portuguese India, landed a force of 500 men and fired the
city. Sultan Ibrahim fled, and was duly deposed in favour of one
Mohammed Ankoni, who had proved himself a friend to the Europeans:
he preferred, however, placing the power in the hands of Micante
(?), the only son left by the murdered Sultan Alfudayl (El Fuzayl).
The small fort of Santiago was built, and the citizens consented to
pay tribute and to acknowledge the sovereignty of D. Manoel.
Discontent soon showed itself: trade with Sofala had been forbidden
to the citizens, and the latter fled to other cities on the coast.
Mohammed Ankoni was presently murdered by the intrigues of the
deposed Sultan Ibrahim; and the viceroy, D’Almeyda, sent Gonçalo Vaz
de Goes with orders to punish the crime. The Captain of Kilwa, Pedo
Ferreira, had raised the Wasawahili of Songo Mnárá Island, and
preferred for the succession Micante to Ali Hosayn, the son of
Mohammed. In December, 1506, Vaz de Goes landed at Kilwa, and
restored its ancient prosperity by putting an end to the monopolies
of trade, and the vexations caused by the cupidity of the
Portuguese. After his departure, however, Ali Hosayn managed to
obtain the Sultanship, and attacked with great loss the Shaykh of
Tirendiconde, who had actually murdered his father. The pride and
extortions of the new Sultan soon offended his subjects; he was
deposed by orders of the Viceroy, and he died in obscurity at
Mombasah.
Micante, once more confirmed as Sultan, proved himself a greater
plague than Ali Hosayn, but he managed to secure the interest of
Francisco Pereira Pestana. This ‘Captain of Kilwa’ aided in
attacking the deposed Ibrahim, but the Portuguese garrison was
reduced to 40 sound men. Hearing the danger of his subjects, D.
Manoel ordered the Viceroy to raze the fort of Santiago, and to
transfer Pestana to Socotra, which had just been occupied by the
Lusitanians, and from which they expected great benefits in their
wars with the Turks. Thereupon Ibrahim returned again to his own,
Micante fled to the Querimba Islands, where he died in misery, and
the former, made wiser by adversity, restored Kilwa to her old
prosperity, and charged his sons never to fail in fidelity to
Portugal.
In 1598 the capital of Southern Zanzibar was attacked by the Wazimba
Kafirs, who afterwards commited such ravages at Mombasah. A
traitorous Moor made conditions for himself and his family, and
pointed out a ford over which the invader could pass at low tide.
The savages fell upon the city at night, massacred those who could
not save themselves by flight, destroyed the buildings, and carried
off 3000 persons, male and female, who, according to Diogo do Couto,
were incontinently devoured.
The Yu’rabi ruler, Sayf bin Sultan, after driving the Portuguese
from Mombasah (1698), sent his powerful fleet to Zanzibar and
Kilwa, which at once accepted his rule. A temporary return of the
Europeans took place in 1728, when the Capt.-General Luiz Mello de
Sampayo re-established the rule of his king from Patta to Kilwa.
Ahmed bin Said el Hináwi rising to power (1744), contented himself
with annually sending to the Zanzibar coast as far as Kilwa three
or four ships, which brought away the rich exports of the
neighbourhood—gold, ivory, and slaves. The name of Kilwa now
rarely occurs in history. Late in the last century the French here
attempted to form a slave depôt, which led to the out-station
being re-occupied by Zanzibar. The Shirazis, however, held the
land till the late Sayyid Said seized and deported to Maskat
Muammadi, their last sultan, and thus the tribe was scattered
abroad.
Such is the present state of a settlement which in 1500 the
Portuguese found prosperous to the highest degree, and ruling the
Zangian coast to Mozambique and Sofala. Every blessing save that of
beauty has now passed away from it, and instead of ‘cet éternel
nuage de fumée qui dort sur les toits, et le bourdonnement lointain
de la ruche immense,’ we see the wild ‘smokes’ of the tropical
coast, and we hear the scream of the seamew harshly invading the
silence and solitude of a city in ruins.
Returning to Kivinjya, we consulted the Wali and the principal
inhabitants about the feasibility of a march upon the Nyassa or
Southern Lake—here, as at Zanzibar, not a soul confounded it with
the Tanganyika. All agreed that it was then impossible. The slaves
were dead or sold off, and porters would not be procurable on
account of the cholera: perhaps, however, we might succeed by
awaiting the arrival of the first caravans in June. This delay we
could not afford, our time was becoming short, our means shorter,
and the climate of Kilwa was doing us no good. Evidently the
exploration of the Nyassa was a matter of too much importance to be
tacked on to an expedition as its tail-piece.
Unwillingly but perforce we turned, on February 24, 1859, the
Batela’s head northwards. Though the wet season did not set in till
March 20, the weather was especially vile,—a succession of
pertinacious calms, violent tornadoes of wind and rain, and cloudy
weather with not enough of blue sky to make a ribbon. At last, after
nine days of thorough discomfort, we ran into Zanzibar harbour
before the mildest of sea-breezes.
As we approached the city file-firing was heard day and night: we
thought that there was fighting, but it proved that the people were
keeping their Thursday, our Friday eve, with all the honours. The
place was full of armed men, and for a fortnight, during which the
wildest rumours flew abroad, all was excitement and suspense.
Although Mr Ezkel bin Yusuf, British agent at Maskat, had omitted to
report the embarkation of Sayyid Suwayni on February 11, yet the
invader was known to be en route. The European officials at Zanzibar
stood undecided how to act except in the matter of pacification. The
French Consul, whose protection had been sought by Sayyid Majid,
held to the doctrine that all peoples (except the Spaniards?) have a
right to elect their rulers. The loss of Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton was
severely felt: the English Consul who succeeded him was a new man,
reported generally to be not indifferent to self-interest. The U. S.
Consul refused to take any part in the matter, declaring that if he
was killed his nation would demand four lacs of rupees, one for
himself, one for his wife, and two for the house.
Presently it was announced officially that the invading fleet had
been dispersed by a storm, and that Capt. Fullerton, of H. M. S.
Punjaub, sailing under orders of the Bombay Government, had
persuaded Sayyid Suwayni to return. Congratulations were exchanged,
salutes were fired, bullets whizzed about like hornets, the negroes
danced and sang for a consecutive week, and with the least possible
delay armed men poured in crammed boats from the Island towards
their normal stations. But the blow had been struck: the cholera had
filled the city with mourning; the remnant of the trading season was
insufficient for the usual commercial transactions, and a strong
impression that the attack from Maskat would be renewed, as indeed
it was, seemed to be uppermost in every mind.[73]
I have related in a former volume how the change at the British
Consulate affected me personally. My report to the Secretary of
the Royal Geographical Society had not been forwarded, and no one
knew where it was. The sketch and field books which we had sent in
case of mishap from the interior, were accidentally found stowed
away in some drawer. A mistaken feeling of delicacy made me object
to be the bearer of despatches which would have thrown a curious
light upon certain intrigues, and no feeling of delicacy on the
part of the person complained of prevented his devising an ignoble
plot and carrying out the principle, ‘Calumniari audacter, semper
aliquid hærebit.’ The Home branch of the Indian Government
embraced the opportunity of displaying under the sham of
inflexible justice—summum jus summa injuria—peculiar animus, and
turned a preoccupied ear to explanations which would have more
than satisfied any other. And thus unhappily ended my labours at
Zanzibar and in Eastern Intertropical Africa.
-----
Footnote 61:
‘Ptolemæus und die Handelstrassen in Central-Afrika.’ It was
written before the traveller set out for Africa, and it has been
calmly and fairly judged by Dr Beke (Sources of the Nile, p. 69).
Footnote 62:
The old Portuguese travellers (Rezende and others) mention the
islets of Auxoly, Coa, and Zibondo; I could hear nothing of these
names: they are probably corruptions, Auxoly for Chole, Coa for
Koma, and Zibondo for Kibundo.
Footnote 63:
Kisíma (Arab. Tawi) is opposed to Shímo, a water-pit (Arab.
Hufreh).
Footnote 64:
Captain Guillain (i. 111) says 10 miles or 100 stadia. In i. 169
he writes ‘Mafia n’est separée de la côte que par un canal de 3½
lieues, partagé encore par une petite île intermédiare.’
Footnote 65:
Note to p. 20. In p. 19 (ibid.) we read, ‘The country near the
mouth of the Lufiji is occupied by the Mazingía.’ No such name is
known, however; it would mean, if anything, ‘Water of the Path
(Maji ya Njia),’ not, as he renders it, ‘the road along the
water.’ Even then Maji Njia is hardly grammatical: the genitive
sign can be omitted, especially in poetry, as—
‘Mimi siki, Mimi siki M’áná simbá,’
‘I fear not, I fear not the lion’s whelp;’
but the ‘water path’ as a P.N. is not Kisawahili. The word is
evidently a confusion with Kilwa Majinjera; and the ‘Denkarenko’
tribe is unknown as the ‘Mazingía.’ Another mistake of another
kind is talking of a ‘Surat (for Suri) Arab,’ something like a
Russian Englishman. Such, however, is the individual who lectures
Dr Livingstone on Sichwawa and teaches me the elements of
Kisawahili.
Footnote 66:
After leaving Kilwa we heard of a ‘Nullah’ entering the bay, a
long fissure 4 to 5 feet broad and many fathoms deep, which
communicates with a grotto haunted by huge snakes and genii
(Jinus).
Footnote 67:
Page xliii. of Mr E. G. Ravenstein’s Introduction to Dr Krapf’s
Travels, Researches, and Missionary Labours (London: Trübner.
1860).
Footnote 68:
This must be understood by comparison: the vegetation shows much
humidity, but perhaps not so excessive as upon the coast further
north.
Footnote 69:
The Highlands of the Brazil, i. 370.
Footnote 70:
I have explained the latter, like Rufa and Rufuta, to have been
derived from Ku fa, to die (Memoir on the Lake Regions, p. 44).
This Rufuma is the Livuma (or ‘gut’) of Mr Cooley (Geography, &c.,
p. 15). What can he mean by ‘going from Kilwa to Jáo (Uhyáo), the
traveller reaches the Livuma in 25 to 30 days’? There is hardly a
bee-line of 2° between Kilwa and the mouth of the Rufuma. And what
may be ‘Lukelingo, the capital of Jáo’?—any relation to the ‘town
Zanganica’? It is probably the Lukeringo district and stream
falling into the eastern waters of the Nyassa Lake.
Footnote 71:
This is probably a confusion with the legend of Ali bin Hasan, the
Shirazi chief, who, according to the ‘Kilwa Chronicle’ (De Barros,
1st Decade of Asia, viii. 4, 5), occupied Kilwa in our 11th
century. There may have been a second emigration from Shangaya
after the 14th century, but the tale of the cloth is suspicious.
Cloth, however, has played everywhere upon this coast the part of
gold and silver. Sofala was anciently a monopoly of Makdishu,
which traded with it for gold on condition of sending every year a
few young men to improve the ‘Kafir’ race, the latter highly
valuing the comparatively white blood. A fisherman of Kilwa having
been carried by the currents to the S. Eastern Gold Coast,
reported this state of affairs to Daud, 10th Shirazi Sultan of
Kilwa. This chief succeeded in getting the rich trade into his own
hands by offering as many pieces of cloth as the youths sent by
the people of Makdishu, and by also supplying emigrants to marry
the daughters of the savages.
Footnote 72:
The Rev. Mr Wakefield (loc. cit. p. 312) calls this place
Shungwaya, and states that it is a district between Goddoma and
Kaúma (Wanyika-land); whilst his authority, Sadi, declares it to
be the original home of all the Wasegeju.
Footnote 73:
The Sayyid Majid had originally agreed to pay annually $20,000 to
Sayyid Suwayni, $10,000 to his brother, Sayyid Turki of Sohar, and
$10,000 tribute to the Wahhabis. This was on condition that Sayyid
Turki should not be molested, as he repeatedly was. It was
generally believed that the arrangement was verbal, Sayyid Majid
having refused to bind himself by writing: possibly there may have
been a secret document. This agreement was subsequently modified
by the action of the Bombay Government.
CHAPTER XII.
CAPTAIN SPEKE.
‘Tantus amor veri, nihil est quod noscere malim
Quam fluvii causas per sæcula tanta latentes,
Ignotumque caput.’—LUCAN, x. 189.
I fully recognize the difficulty of writing a chapter with such a
heading. Whatever is spoken will be deemed by some better unspoken;
whilst others would wish me to say much that has been, they will
believe, left unsaid. Those who know me, however, will hardly judge
me capable of setting down ought unfairly, or of yielding, after
such a length of years, to feelings of indignation, however
justifiable they might have been considered in the past. Shortly
after Capt. Speke’s decease I was asked to publish a sketch of his
life and adventures: at that time I had hardly heart for the task.
In beginning this short memoir, I can now repeat the words published
six years ago.[74] ‘Be it distinctly understood that, whilst
differing from Captain Speke upon almost every geographical subject
supposed to be “settled” by his exploration of 1860 to 1863, I do
not stand forth as the enemy of the departed. No man can better
appreciate the noble qualities of energy, courage, and perseverance
which he so eminently possessed, than do I, who knew him for so many
years, and who travelled with him as a brother, before the
unfortunate rivalry respecting the Nile Sources arose like the ghost
of discord between us, and was fanned to a flame by the jealousy and
the ambition of “friends.”’ I claim only the right of telling the
truth and the whole truth, and of speaking as freely of another as I
would be spoken of myself in my own biography. In this chapter I
shall be careful to borrow whatever he chose to publish concerning
his own career, and to supplement it with recollections and
observations of my own.[75]
Capt. Speke (John Hanning) was born on May 4th, 1827, at Orleigh
Court, near Bideford, West England. He was educated at Barnstaple
Grammar School, and he used often to confess, with no little
merriment, his devotion to bird-nesting and his hatred of
‘book-learning.’ This distaste was increased by two ophthalmic
attacks in childhood, which rendered reading a painful task; and in
after life he frequently suffered from snow-blindness when crossing
the Himalayas. At the age of 17 he was sent to India as a cadet, and
in 1841 he was gazetted ensign in the 46th Regiment Bengal N. I.
After the usual monotonous barrack-life, he found himself a
subaltern in the so-called ‘Fighting Brigade’ of General Sir Colin
Campbell, and during the Panjab war he took part in the affairs of,
and obtained the medals for, Ramnagar, Sadullapore, Chillianwala,
and Guzerat. Burning to distinguish himself in action, he was not
favoured by opportunity: on one occasion he was told off with a
detachment to capture a gun; but, to his great disgust, a
counter-order was issued before the attack could be made.
Lieut. Speke had now served five years, and when the campaign ended
he applied himself, with his wonted energy, to make war upon the
fauna and feræ of the Himalayas. A man of lithe, spare form, about
six feet tall, ‘blue-eyed, tawny-maned; the old Scandinavian type,
full of energy and life,’ with a highly nervous temperament, a token
of endurance, and long, wiry, but not muscular limbs, that could
cover the ground at a swinging pace, he became an excellent
mountaineer. His strong nerve and clear head enabled him to cross
the Passes before the melting of the snows allowed them to be called
open, and to travel by break-neck paths, which others were unable to
face: a rival, on one occasion, attempted to precede him, and
brought on a low fever by the horrors of the Col and the Corniche.
He soon proved himself the best East Indian sportsman of each
successive season: that he was a good shot in his youth is shown by
the ‘trophies’ with which he adorned the paternal hall. But, as
Lieut. Herne and I took the first opportunity of ascertaining, he
was by no means remarkable for the ‘use of an unerring rifle,’ when
he appeared at Aden. This often happens in the case of men who have
overtaxed their nervous systems during early life, and who have
unintermittently kept up the practice of dangerous sport: to mention
no others, the late Gordon Cumming and Jules Gérard are notable
instances personally known to me. Those whose tastes lie in
lion-hunting and boar-spearing will do well to give themselves as
much repose as possible between the acts, and to husband their
nerve-strength for great opportunities. A far better walker than a
rider, he prided himself, as often happens, chiefly upon his
equitation.
For five years after the Panjab war Lieut. Speke annually obtained
long leave to cross the Snowy Mountains, and to add to his
collections of the animals little known or unknown, which then
abounded in those glaciers and ice-bound plains. His messmates, with
whom he was ever a favourite, wondered at the facility with which he
escaped the regimental grind of parade and escort duties. He thus
explains the modus operandi, that others may profit by it. ‘The
Commander-in-Chief, Sir William Gomm, observing to what good account
I always turned my leave, instead of idling my time away or running
into debt, took great pleasure in encouraging my hobby; and his
staff were even heard to say it would be a pity if I did not get
leave, as so much good resulted from it.’ I may add that, with the
fine tact which distinguished him, he never allowed his friends to
think themselves neglected, and always returned with rare and
beautiful specimens of Himalayan pheasants, and other admired birds,
for each one who had done him kindness, and thus men forgot to be
jealous. Devoted also to one idea at a time, he eminently possessed
the power of asking: no prospect of a refusal, however harsh,
deterred him from applying for what was required to advance his
views. I was struck by the way in which he wrote to Lieut.-Colonel
Hamerton for supplies and advances, of which the latter had no
power, or rather had not been empowered, to dispose.
Thus Lieut. Speke was the first to penetrate into some of the
remotest corners of Little Thibet: and here, besides indulging his
passion for shooting, collecting, and preserving, he taught himself
geodesy in a rude but highly efficient manner. The Yearly Address
(Journal of the Royal Geographical Society, vol. xxxv.) asserts that
he learned to ‘make astronomical observations.’ This was not the
case. But by watch and sun—to the latter a pocket-compass was
presently preferred—he obtained distance and direction, and his
thorough familiarity with all the topographical features of the
mountains, enabled him to construct route-sketches and field-maps
which, however rough, proved useful to sportsmen and explorers. Some
years of this work, tracing out the courses of streams, crossing
passes and rounding heights, gave him an uncommonly acute ‘eye for
country,’—by no means a usual accomplishment even with the
professional surveyor. As an old ‘agrimensor,’ I well know that
there is no better training for the tyro who can afford the time
than to begin field-work without instruments: the use of the latter
will be learned in a few days, nay, hours; and even the most
experienced prefer, when possible, to go over the ground, and to
form a mental sketch before attempting exact topography. His maps
and plans were never, I believe, published, in consequence of some
difference with the editor, who had delayed printing them.
During his explorations he led the hardest of lives, and he solved
the problem of ‘how to live upon half nothing.’ ‘In the backwoods
and jungles,’ he says, ‘no ceremony or etiquette provokes
unnecessary expenditure, whilst the fewer men and material I took
with me on my sporting excursions the better sport we always got,
and the freer and more independent I was to carry on the chase.’ He
rose with the freezing dawn, walked in the burning sun all day,
breaking his fast upon native bread and wild onions, and he passed
the biting nights in the smallest of ‘rowtie’ tents, often falling
asleep before finishing his food. The latter was of course chiefly
game, and he had acquired a curious taste for the youngest of meat,
preferring it even when unborn. He also attempted to travel
barefooted, but this will almost always prove a failure to men who
have not begun it in early life. His system of living was good: as
the late Lord Palmerston advised, he ate much, drank little, and did
not smoke.
The object of this economy was to carry out a project which he had
matured in 1849, after the expiration of the Panjab campaign. Of his
three years’ furlough he proposed to employ two in collecting
animals whilst marching through Eastern Africa, north of the Line,
with the third to be spent in ease and rest at home. The idea of
‘striking the Nile at its head, and then sailing down that river to
Egypt,’ was altogether an after-thought, and similarly his knowledge
of ‘Ruppell and others’ was the result of far later application. I
well remember at Aden his astonishment at my proposing so improbable
a scheme as marching overland to the Nile sources. But he had seen
in maps the mythical ‘Mountains of the Moon,’ which twenty years ago
used to span Africa from east to west, a huge black caterpillar upon
a white leaf, and he determined that they would ‘in all probability
harbour wild goats and sheep, as the Himalaya range does.’
Lieut. Speke’s tenth year of Indian service was completed on Sept.
3, 1854, and the next day saw him in the Peninsular and Oriental
steamer bound from Calcutta to Aden. I was then at the Coal-Hole of
the East, organizing amongst ‘the treasures and sweetnesses of the
Happy Arabia,’ an expedition to explore, first the Guardafuian Horn,
then the far interior. He brought with him ‘notions’ to the value of
£390, all manner of cheap and useless chow-chow, guns and revolvers,
swords and cutlery, and beads and cloths, which the ‘simple-minded
negro of Africa’ would have rejected with disdain. He began at the
very landing-place with a serious mistake, which might have led to
the worst consequences. Meeting the first mop-headed Somalis who
spoke broken English, he told them his intentions, and he actually
allowed two donkey-boys to become his Abbans—guides and protectors.
Strangers visiting the Eastern Horn must ever be careful to choose
the most powerful of these licensed plunderers: the barbarians hold
strongly to the right of might, and they would delight in stripping
a white man appearing amongst them with an ignoble or an
insufficient escort. On the other hand, the donkey-boys, having been
appointed according to custom, would have claimed the honour and the
profits of the post, and they would have been supported by public
opinion against any Abbans of another tribe.
Making acquaintance with Lieut. Speke, I found with astonishment
that he could speak no Eastern language but a little of the normal
Anglo-Hindostani, and that, without knowing even the names of the
harbour-towns, he proposed to explore one of the most dangerous
parts of Africa. Convinced that if he preceded me his life would be
lost, and that the Somali Expedition would be unable even to set
out, I applied officially to the Political Resident of Aden, the
late Colonel, afterwards Sir James, Outram, of whose ‘generous kind
nature’ and of whose ‘frank and characteristic ardour’ my personal
experience do not permit me to speak with certainty. In his younger
days Colonel Outram had himself proposed to open up the wild regions
opposite Aden. But when he rose to command and its responsibilities,
he ‘considered it his duty as a Christian to prevent, as far as he
was able, anybody from hazarding his life there.’ To a traveller
prepared for a forlorn hope this view of Christian obligations was
by no means consolatory, and I could not help wishing that Colonel
Outram had been able to remember his own feelings of 20 years back.
Thus far, however, he was dans son droit, he held it his duty to
prevent men from destroying themselves, and he should have veto’d
the whole affair.
Presently, however, upon my assuming the fullest responsibility and
giving a written bond for our blood, the Political Resident allowed
me to enrol Lieut. Speke as a member of the Expedition, and thus to
save his furlough by putting him on full service. Colonel Outram
would also have gratified his own generosity, and shifted all onus
from his conscience, by making me alone answerable for the safety of
a Madras officer who had left India expressly to join us. I had,
however, now done enough: common report at Aden declared the thing
to be impossible, and the unfortunate traveller returned
unsuccessful.
Lieut. Speke was uncommonly hard to manage: he owned himself to be a
‘Mastí Bengali’ (bumptious Bengal-man), and having been for years
his own master, he had a way as well as a will of his own. To a
peculiarly quiet and modest aspect—aided by blue eyes and blonde
hair—to a gentleness of demeanour, and an almost childlike
simplicity of manner which at once attracted attention, he united an
immense and abnormal fund of self-esteem, so carefully concealed,
however, that none but his intimates suspected its existence. He
ever held, not only that he had done his best on all occasions, but
also that no man living could do better. These were his own words,
and they are not quoted in a spirit of blame: evidently such is the
temper best suited to the man who would work through the accumulated
difficulties of exploration or of any other exceptional career.
Before we set out he openly declared that being tired of life he had
come to be killed in Africa—not a satisfactory announcement to those
who aspired to something better than the crown of martyrdom. But
when the opportunity came he behaved with prudence as well as
courage. I therefore look upon his earlier confession as a kind of
whimsical affectation, like that which made him, when he returned to
England in 1859, astonish certain of the Browns by speaking a manner
of broken English, as if he had forgotten his vernacular in the
presence of strange tongues.
Finding, even at that early period of acquaintanceship, that he had
a true but uncultivated taste for zoology, and extensive practice in
rude field, mapping, I determined that his part of the work should
be in the highly interesting Eastern Horn of Africa. He accordingly
landed at Bunder Guray, with directions to explore the important
feature, called by Lieut. Cruttenden, I. N., ‘Wady Nogal,’ and to
visit the highlands of the Warsangali and the Dulbahanta tribes, the
most warlike and the least treacherous of the Somal. Meanwhile
Lieutenants Stroyan and Herne remained at Berberah, collecting
information from and watching the annual fair, whilst I proceeded,
more, it must be confessed, for curiosity and for display of
travelling savoir faire, than for other reason, through the Habr
Awal and other most dangerous families of the Somal, to Harar, the
Tinbuktu of Eastern Africa.
I returned to Aden on Feb. 9th, 1855, and was followed about a week
afterwards by Lieut. Speke. He was thoroughly disgusted with his
journey, and he brought back a doleful tale of trouble. He had
adopted, by my advice, a kind of half-eastern dress, as did Colonel
Belly and his officers, when visiting El Riyaz, the head-quarters of
the Wahhabis; and he attributed to this costume all his misfortunes.
He came back, determined that no such feature as the Wady Nogal
existed: yet M. Guillain (ii. 493) saw between Dra Salih and Ra’as
el Khayl, the valley, and its stream debouching upon the coast. He
had recorded his misadventures in a diary whose style, to say
nothing of sentiments and geographical assertions, rendered it, in
my opinion, unfit for publication, and I took the trouble of
re-writing the whole. Published as an Appendix to ‘First Footsteps
in East Africa,’ it was in the third person, without the least
intention of giving offence, but simply because I did not wish to
palm upon the reader my own composition as that of another person.
Unhappily, however, an article from a well-known pen appeared in
Blackwood (p. 499, October, 1856), and contained these words:—
‘A resumé of Mr Speke’s observations is appended to Mr Burton’s
book, but it lacks the interest of a personal narrative; and we much
regret that the experiences of one whose extensive wanderings had
already so well qualified him for the task, and who has shown
himself so able an explorer, should not have been chronicled at a
greater length, and thrown into a form which would have rendered
them more interesting to the general reader.’
This brand was not foolishly thrown: it kindled a fire which did not
consume the less fiercely because it was smothered. Some two years
afterwards, when in the heart of Africa, and half delirious with
fever, my companion let fall certain expressions which, to my
infinite surprise, showed that he had been nursing three great
grievances. The front of the offence was that his Diary had been
spoiled. Secondly, he felt injured because he had derived no profit
from a publication which had not proved ‘paying’ to me. Thirdly, he
was hurt because I had forwarded to the Calcutta Museum of Natural
History, as expressly bound by my instructions, his collection, of
which he might easily have kept duplicates. My companion had a
peculiarity more rarely noticed in the Englishman than in the
Hibernian and in the Teuton—a habit of secreting thoughts and
reminiscences till brought to light by a sudden impulse. He would
brood, perhaps for years, over a chance word, which a single
outspoken sentence of explanation could have satisfactorily settled.
The inevitable result was the exaggeration of fact into fiction, the
distortion of the true to the false. Let any man, after long musing
about, or frequent repetition of, a story or an adventure, consult
his original notes upon the matter, and if they do not startle him,
I shall hold him to be an exception. And if he keep no journal, and
be withal somewhat hard of persuasion, he will firmly hold, in all
honour and honesty, to the latest version, modified by lapse of
time. I made this remark more than once to my companion, and he
received it with an utter incredulity which clearly proved to me
that his was a case in point.
The next adventure was a savage melée at Berberah, on April 19th,
1855, when we were attacked by Somali plunderers. Here again I
unwittingly offended Lieut. Speke’s susceptibilities by saying in
the thick of the fight, ‘Don’t step back, or they’ll think we are
running!’ As usual, I was never allowed to know that he was
‘chagrined by this rebuke at his management’ till his own account of
the mishap appeared before the public. The story, as he tells it,
reads very differently from his written report still in my
possession, and he gives the world to understand that he alone of
the force had attempted to defend the camp. The fact is, he had lost
his head, and instead of following me when cutting my way through
the enemy, he rushed about, dealing blows with the butt of an
unloaded revolver. His courage was of that cool order which
characterizes the English rather than the French soldier. The
former, constitutionally strong-nerved and self-reliant, goes into
action reckless of what may happen, and unprepared for extremes:
when he ‘gets more than he bargains for’ he is apt, like
unimaginative men generally, to become demoralized. The Frenchman,
with a weaker organization, prepares himself to expect the worst;
and when the worst comes, he finds it, perhaps, not so bad as he
expected.
Lieut. Speke escaped as by a miracle, and recovered as wonderfully
from eleven spear-wounds, one of which was clean through the thigh.
Returning to England, we both volunteered for the Crimean campaign;
and he found his way to the Turkish Contingent, I to the Bashi
Buzuks. When peace was concluded he agreed to explore, in company
with Capt. Smyth, of the Bengal Army, Circassia and other parts of
Central Asia. We met, however, in London, and he at once proposed to
dismiss his new plans for another African expedition.
The reader has seen, in the earlier chapters of this book, the
troubles attending our departure, and the obstacles opposed by the
Court of Directors to Lieut. Speke again becoming my companion; it
has also been explained how the difficulties were removed. My
companion did not, however, ‘take kindly’ to the Second Expedition.
Even at the beginning of our long absence from civilized life I
could not but perceive that his former alacrity had vanished: he was
habitually discontented with what was done; he left to me the whole
work of management, and then he complained of not being consulted.
He had violent quarrels with the Baloch, and on one occasion the
Jemadar returned to him an insult which, if we had not wanted the
man, he would have noticed with a sword-cut. Unaccustomed to
sickness, he could not endure it himself nor feel for it in others;
and he seemed to enjoy pleasure in saying unpleasant things—an
Anglo-Indian peculiarity. Much of the change he explained to me by
confessing that he could not take interest in an exploration of
which he was not the commander. On the other hand, he taught himself
the use of the sextant and other instruments, with a resolution and
a pertinacity which formed his characteristic merits. Night after
night, at the end of the burning march, he sat for hours in the
chilling dews, practising lunars and timing chronometers. I have
acknowledged in becoming terms, it is hoped, the value of these
labours, and the benefit derived from them by the Expedition. The
few books—Shakespere, Euclid, and so forth—which composed my scanty
library, we read together again and again: he learned from me to
sketch the scenery, and he practised writing a diary and accounts of
adventure, which he used to bring for correction. These
reminiscences forcibly suggest to me the Arab couplet—
علمته الرمايه كليوم
فلمّا امشتدّ ساعده رمانى
‘I taught him archery day by day—
When his arm waxed strong, ’twas me he shot.’
The discovery of the water which he called Victoria Nyanza formed, I
have said, the point whence our paths diverged. He was convinced
that he had found ‘the Nile Source,’ and he was determined to work
out that problem in the position which he thought himself best
fitted to hold, that of leader. Arrived at Zanzibar, he fell into
bad hands, and being, like most ambitious men, very apt to consider
himself neglected and ill-treated until crowned by success, he was
easily made sore upon the point of merits not duly recognized. He
showed a nervous hurry to hasten home, although we found upon the
Island that our leave had been prolonged by the Bombay Government.
Reaching Aden, we were housed for a few days by my old and tried
friend, the late Dr Steinhaeuser, who repeatedly warned me that all
was not right. On Monday, April 18th, arrived H. M.’s ship Furious,
Captain Sherard Osborne, carrying the late Lord Elgin and his
secretary, the supposed author of the review in Blackwood. We were
kindly invited to take passage on board: my companion’s sick
certificate was en règle, whilst mine was not, and he left Aden in
such haste that he did not take leave of his host. Still we were, to
all appearance, friends.
Before parting with me, Capt. Speke voluntarily promised, when
reaching England, to visit his family in the country, and to await
my arrival, that we might appear together before the Royal
Geographical Society. But on board the Furious he was exposed to the
worst influences, and he was persuaded to act in a manner which his
own moral sense must have afterwards strongly condemned, if indeed
it ever pardoned it. From Cairo he wrote me a long letter,
reiterating his engagement, and urging me to take all the time and
rest that broken health required. Yet, hardly had he reached London
before he appeared at Whitehall Place to give his own views of
important points still under discussion. Those were the days when
the Society in question could not afford to lack its annual lion,
whose roar was chiefly to please the ladies and to push the
institution. Despite the palpable injustice thus done to the
organizer and leader of the expedition, Capt. Speke was officially
directed—‘much against his own inclination,’ he declared—to lecture
in Burlington House. The President ‘seized the enlightened view that
such a discovery should not be lost to the glory of England,’ and
came at once to the conclusion, ‘Speke, we must send you there
again.’ Finally, a council assembled to ascertain what were the
projects of the volunteer leader, and what assistance he would
require, in order to ‘make good his discovery by connecting the Lake
with the Nile.’ They ended their labours by recommending the most
liberal preparations—a remarkable contrast to those of the first
expedition.[76]
I reached London on May 21st, and found that everything had been
done for, or rather against, me. My companion now stood forth in his
true colours, an angry rival. He had doubtless been taught that the
expedition had owed to him all its success: he had learned to feel
aggrieved, and the usual mental alchemy permuted to an offence every
friendly effort which I had made in his favour. No one is so
unforgiving, I need hardly say, as the man who injures another. A
college friend (Alfred B. Richards) thus correctly defined my
position, ‘Burton, shaken to the backbone by fever, disgusted,
desponding, and left behind both in the spirit and in the flesh,
was, in racing parlance, “nowhere.”’
Presently appeared two papers in Blackwood’s Magazine (Sept.-Oct.,
1859), which opened a broad breach between my late companion and
myself. They contained futilities which all readers could detect. A
horseshoe, or Chancellor’s wig, some 6000 feet high and 180 miles in
depth, was prolonged beyond the equator and gravely named ‘Mountains
of the Moon.’ The Nyanza water, driven some 120 miles further north
than when originally laid down from Arab information, stultified one
of the most important parts of our labours. Nor did I see why my
companion should proceed to apply without consultation such names as
‘Speke Channel’ and ‘Burton Point’ to features which we had explored
together.
It was no ‘petty point of explorer’s etiquette,’ as some reviewer
generously put the case, which made me resent the premature
publication of Capt. Speke’s papers: though the many-headed may
think little of such matters, a man who has risked his life for a
great discovery cannot sit tamely to see it nullified. My views also
about retaining native nomenclature have ever been fixed, and of the
strongest: I still hold, with the late venerable Mr Macqueen,
‘Nothing can be so absurd as to impose English names on any part,
but especially upon places in the remote interior parts of Africa.
This is, we believe, done by no other nation. What nonsense it is
calling a part of Lake Nyanza the Bengal Archipelago; a stagnant
puddle, with water in it only during the rains, or where the lake
overflows, the Jordans, a name never heard of in geography’ (The
Nile Basin, pp. 109, 110).
Such a breach once made is easily widened. My companion wrote and
spoke to mutual acquaintances in petulant and provoking terms, which
rendered even recognition impossible. They justified me, I then
thought, in publishing the Lake Regions of Central Africa, where,
smarting under injury, my story was told. After the lapse of a
decade, when a man of sense can sit in judgment upon his younger
self, it is evident to me that much might have been omitted, and
that more might have been modified, yet I find nothing in it unfair,
unreasonable, or in any way unfaithful. Many opined that the more
dignified proceeding would have been to ignore the injuries done to
me. But the example of my old commander, Sir Charles Napier (the
soldier), taught me in early life how unwise it is to let public
sentence be passed by default, and that even delay in disputing
unqualified assertions may in some cases be fraught with lasting
evil.
Capt. Speke succeeded, as the world knows, in organizing a second
expedition upon the plan of the first: it lasted between Sept. 25,
1860, and April, 1863, when he telegram’d to Alexandria, ‘The Nile
is settled.’ I would in no way depreciate the solid services
rendered to geography by him and by his gallant and amiable
companion, Capt. Grant. They brought in an absolute gain of some 350
geographical miles between S. lat. 3° and N. lat. 3°, an equatorial
belt, vaguely known only by Arab report and concerning which, with
the hardest labour, I could collect only the heads of information.
But they left unsolved the moot question of the Nile sources, and
indeed it soon became the opinion of scientific Europe that during
the two and a half years, ending with April, 1863, the Nile Basin
had been invested with an amount of fable unknown to the days of
Ptolemy.
Presently after Capt. Speke’s triumphant return appeared the volumes
upon the ‘Discovery of the Source of the Nile,’ and upon ‘What led
to the Discovery.’ His brilliant march led me to express, despite
all the differences which had sprung up between us, the most
favourable opinion of his leadership, and indirect messages passed
between us suggesting the possibility of a better understanding.
Again, however, either old fancied injuries still rankled in his
heart or he could not forgive the man he had injured—odisse quem
læseris—or, which is most probable, the malignant tongues of
‘friends’ urged him on to a renewal of hostilities, and the way to
reconciliation was for ever barred. This was the more unhappy as he
had greatly improved under the influence of a noble ambition justly
satisfied, and all his friends were agreed that success had drawn
out the best points of his character.
The volumes did much to injure Capt. Speke’s reputation as a
traveller. It would be vain to comment upon the extreme looseness of
the geography: one instance suffices, the ‘great backwater Luta
Nzige.’ The anthropology and ethnology are marvellous: what can be
said of his identifying the Watuta with the Zulu, and the Zangian
Wahuma with the ‘Semi-Shem-Hamitic’ race of Æthiopia or with the
Gallas, the most Semitic of the N. East African tribes? What can we
make of ‘our poor elder brother Ham?’ What can ruddy King David have
had to do with the black Chief Rumanika? The explanation is that the
author’s mind, incurious about small matters, could not grasp, and
did not see the importance of grasping, a fact, and his vagueness of
thought necessarily extended to his language. Else how account for
his ‘partial eclipse of the moon happens on the fifth _and_ sixth of
January, 1863’ (Journal p. 243)? if _and_ be a misprint for _or_,
why had he not consulted the newest almanac? Nor did he know the use
of words. A mass of foul huts is ‘a village built on the most
luxurious principles,’ and a petty chief is a ‘King of kings;’
whilst a ‘splendid court’ means a display of mere savagery, and the
‘French of those parts’ are barbarians somewhat livelier than their
neighbours. ‘Nelson’s Monument at Charing Cross’ is a specimen of
what we may expect from Central Africa.
Not less curious is the awkward, scatter of Scriptural quotations
and allusions that floats upon the surface of his volumes. It looks
as though some friend had assured the author that his work would not
‘go down’ without a little of what is popularly called ‘hashed
Bible;’ and that the result had been the recommendation of
missionary establishments at the Nile sources. I am assured,
however, that before the end of his life Capt. Speke had greatly
changed his previous opinions. When travelling with me he used to
ignore ‘overruling Providence or a future state’ in a style whose
unstudied conviction somewhat surprised me.
Returning to England from Fernando Po, West Africa, I attended at
Bath the British Association for September, 1864. The date for the
discussion about the Nile Sources, and the claims of the Lake
Tanganyika, and a N. Eastern water then unnamed, versus the
‘Victoria Nyanza,’ was fixed on Sept. 16. On the previous day I
passed my quondam companion as he sat on the President’s right hand,
and I could not but remark the immense change of feature, of
expression, and of general appearance which his severe labours,
complicated perhaps by deafness and dimness of sight, had wrought in
him. We looked at each other of course without signs of recognition.
Some one beckoned to him from the bottom of the hall. At 1.30 P. M.
he arose, and ejaculating, ‘I can’t stand this any longer!’ he left
the room. Three hours afterwards he was a corpse.
Early in the forenoon fixed for what silly tongues called the ‘Nile
Duel’ I found a large assembly in the rooms of section E. A note was
handed round in silence. Presently my friend Mr Findlay broke the
tidings to me. Capt. Speke had lost his life on the yesterday, at 4
P. M., whilst shooting over a cousin’s grounds. He had been missed
in the field, and his kinsman found him lying upon the earth, shot
through the body close to the heart. He lived only a few minutes,
and his last words were a request not to be moved. The calamity had
been the more unexpected as he was ever remarkable for the caution
with which he handled his weapon. I ever make a point of
ascertaining a fellow-traveller’s habits in that matter, and I
observed that even when our canoe was shaken and upthrown by the
hippopotamus he never allowed his gun to look at him or at others.
Thus perished, in the flower of his years, at the early age of 37,
by the merest and most unaccountable accident, an explorer of whom
England had reason to be proud, and whose memory will not readily
pass away. His sudden decease recalls to mind that of James Bruce of
the Blue River, who, after a life of hazard and of dangerous
enterprise, perished by the slipping of his foot: unlike the
Abyssinian explorer, however, Capt. Speke was not fated to extend
his sphere of usefulness or to enjoy the fruits of his labours. With
the active and intrepid energy, with the unusual temper, patience,
and single-mindedness, with the earnest and indomitable pertinacity,
and with the almost heroic determination, which he brought to bear
upon everything that he attempted, the achievements of Capt. Speke’s
later life would doubtless, had his career run out its time, have
thrown into the shade the exploits of his youth.
* * * * *
I will end this chapter—and volume—with a few stanzas written by my
wife, who shall be allowed to tell her own tale.
‘The following lines were suggested to me in the studio of the late
Mr Edgar George Papworth, of 36, Milton Street, Dorset Square,
during the winter of 1864-5.
‘Captain Burton had recently returned from Africa. The annual
meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science
had just taken place at Bath, and poor Captain Speke’s sudden death
was still fresh in our memories. We had been invited by the artist
to look at Captain Speke’s bust, upon which he was then employed. Mr
Papworth said to Captain Burton, “I only took the cast after death,
and never knew him alive; but you who lived with him so long can
surely give me some hints.” Captain Burton, who had learnt something
of sculpturing when a boy in Italy, took the sculptor’s pencil from
Mr Papworth’s hand, and with a few touches here and there made a
perfect likeness and expression. As I stood by, I was very much
impressed by this singular coincidence.’
A MOULDED mask at my feet I found,
With the drawn-down mouth and the deepen’d eye,
More lifeless still than the marbles ’round—
Very death amid dead life’s mimicry;
I raised it, and Thought fled afar from me
To the Afric land by the Zingian Sea.
’Twas a face, a shell, that had nought of brain,
And th’ imbedding chalk showed a yellow thread
Which struck my glance with a sudden pain,
For this seemed ’live when the rest was dead;
And poor bygone raillery came to mind
Of the tragic masque and no head behind.
But behind there lay in the humblest shrine
A gem of the brightest, purest ray:
The gem was the human will divine;
The shrine was the homeliest human clay.
Self-glory—but hush! be the tale untold
To the pale ear thinned by yon plaster mould.
Shall the diamond gem lose her queenly worth,
Though pent in the dungeon of sandy stone?
Say, is gold less gold, though in vilest earth
For long years it has lurked unprized, unknown?
And the rose that blooms o’er the buried dead,
Hath its pinkness paled, hath its fragrance fled?
Thus the poet sang, ‘Is the basil vile,
Though the beetle’s foot o’er the basil crawl?’
And though Arachne hath webbed her toil,
Shall disgrace attach to the princely hall?
And the pearl’s clear drop from the oyster-shell,
Comes it not on the royal brow to dwell?
On the Guarded Tablet was writ by Fate,
A double self for each man ere born,
Who shall love his love and shall hate his hate,
Who shall praise his praise and shall scorn his scorn,
Enduring, aye to the bitter end,
And man’s other man shall be called a friend.
When the Spirits with radiance nude arrayed
In the presence stood of the One Supreme,
Soul looked unto soul, and the glance conveyed
A pledge of love which each _must_ redeem;
Nor may spirit enfleshed in the dust, forget
That high trysting-place, ere Time was not yet.
When the first great Sire, so the Legends say,
The four-rivered garden in Asia trod,
And ’neath perfumed shade, in the drouth of day,
Walked and talked with the Hebrew God,
Such friendship was as it first began;
And the first of friends were the God, the Man.
But _we_ twain were not bound by such highborn ties;
Our souls, our minds, and our thoughts were strange,
Our ways were not one, nor our sympathies,
We had severed aims, we had diverse range;
In the stern drear Present his lot was cast,
While I hoped for the Future and loved the Past.
’Twixt man and woman use oft hath bred
The habits that feebly affection feign,
While the common board and the genial bed
And Time’s welding force links a length of chain;
Till, where Love was not, it hath sometimes proved
This has loved and lived, that has lived and loved.
But ’twixt man and man it may not so hap;
Each man is his own and his proper sphere;
At some point, perchance, may the lines o’erlap;
The far rest is far as the near is near—
Save when the orbs are of friend and friend
And the circles’ limits perforce must blend.
But the one sole point at which he and I
Could touch, was the contact of vulgar minds;
’Twas interest’s forcible, feeble tie,
Which binds, but with lasting bonds ne’er binds;
And our objects fated to disagree,
What way went I, and what way went he?
Yet were we comrades for years and years,
And endured in its troth our companionship
Through a life of chances, of hopes, and fears;
Nor a word of harshness e’er passed the lip,
Nor a thought unkind dwelt in either heart,
Till we chanced—by what chance did it hap?—to part.
Where Fever, yellow-skinned, bony, gaunt,
With the long blue nails and lip livid white;
With the blood-stain’d orbs that could ever haunt
Our brains by day and our eyes by night;
In her grave-clothes mouldy with graveyard taint
Came around our sleeping mats—came and went:
Where the crocodile glared with malignant stare,
And the horse of the river, with watery mane
That flash’d in the sun, from his oozy lair
Rose to gaze on the white and wondrous men;
And the lion, with muzzle bent low to earth,
Mock’d the thunder-cloud with his cruel mirth:
Where the speckled fowls the Mimosa decked
Like blue-bells studded with opal dew;
And giraffes, pard-spotted, deer-eyed, swan-necked,
Browsed down the base whence the tree-dome grew:
And the sentinel-antelope, aëried high,
With his frighten’d bound taught his friends to fly:
Where the lovely Coast is all rank with death,
That basks in the sun of the Zingian shore;
Where the mountains, dank with the ocean’s breath,
Bear the incense-tree and the sycamore;
Where the grim fierce desert and stony hill
Breed the fiercest beasts, and men fiercer still:
Where the land of the Moon, with all blessings blest
Save one—save man—and with name that sped
To the farthest edge of the misty West
Since the Tyrian sailor his sail-sheet spread,
Loves to gaze on her planet whose loving ray
Fills her dells and fells with a rival day:
Where the Lake unnamed in the Afric wold
Its breast to the stranger eye lay bare;
Where Isis, forced her veil to unfold—
To forget the boast of the days that were—
Stood in dusky charms with the crisp tire crowned,
On the hallowed bourne, on the Nile’s last bound:
We toiled side by side, for the hope was sweet
To engrave our names on the Rock of Time;
On the Holy Hill to implant our feet
Where enfaned sits Fame o’er the earth sublime;
And now rose the temple before our eyes,
We had paid the price, we had plucked the prize;
When up stood the Shadow betwixt us twain—
Had the dusky goddess bequeathed her ban?—
And the ice of death through every vein
Of comradeship spread in briefest span;
The guerdon our toils and our pains had won,
Was too great for two, was enough for one;
And deeper and deeper grew the gloom
When the serpent tongue had power to sting,
While o’er one of us hung the untimely doom,
A winter’s night to a day of spring;
And heart from heart parting fell away
At the fiat of Fate by her iron sway.
It seems as though from a foamy[77] dream
I awake, and this pallid mask behold,
And I ask—Can this be the end supreme
Of the countless things of the days of old?
This clay, is it all of what used to be
In the Afric land by the Zingian Sea?
ISABEL BURTON.
-----
Footnote 74:
The Nile Basin. Tinsleys, 1864.
Footnote 75:
Introduction to ‘What led to the Discovery of the Sources of the
Nile.’ Blackwoods, 1864.
Footnote 76:
‘This fine undertaking was most inadequately subsidized: only
£1000 was supplied by the Government, through the Society—£750 at
the outset, and £250 on their return. The rest of the total cost,
£2500, was defrayed jointly by the travellers themselves’ (Mr
Findlay, loc. cit., speaking of the East African Expedition of
1856 to 1859). The Treasury, in 1860, contributed £2500, a sum
which, with the experience gained during the first expedition, was
amply sufficient.
Footnote 77:
Träume sind Schäume.
APPENDIX I.
NOTES ON COMMERCIAL MATTERS AT ZANZIBAR IN
THE YEARS 1857-1859.
There was a great dearth of small change on the Island, and until A.
D. 1849 broken sums were paid in Mtama or holcus grain, of which
exceedingly variable measures constituted the dollar. The system
reminds us of the Mexican cacao money and the almonds of British
India. When Capt. Guillain (iii. 376-398) says ‘il existe aux Kiloua
une monnaie de compte, nommée Doti,’ he confounds metallic specie
with the African substitute of cotton cloth, the Doti, as will
appear, measuring 8 cubits = 12 feet, more or less. ‘Shroffing’ was
in early days a profitable trade: the Kojahs and Banyans offered the
ruler, in later years, a considerable annual sum if he would retain
the primitive currency. This infancy of the circulating system
endured till 1840, when Sayyid Said imported from Bombay through H.
B. M.’s consul some $5000 worth of the small copper coin called
pice. Here there are no mints, of which some 16 exist at
Maskat—private shops to which any man can carry his silver, see it
broken up, and pay for the coining whatever the workmen may charge.
At first 132 and even 133 pice were the change for a German crown:
presently the shroffs, by buying up the copper, raised its value to
98. The discount (34 pice, or more than a quarter) of the salaries
paid by the H. E. I. Company at Zanzibar became so great that the
minor officials of the Consulate required an increase. When I landed
at Zanzibar the German crown fetched in the bazar from 107 to 108
pice; in parts of the mainland where it was accepted, from 112 to
130. This fluctuating state of things was very properly put down
with a high hand by Sayyid Majid, who ordered 128 pice to be the
legal equivalent of a German crown, assuming it here as in India as
equal to two Company’s rupees (1 rupee = 16 annas × 4 pice = 64 pice
× 2 = 128 pice). In these lands he who holds the balance of justice
must make things find their own level; however hazardous may be the
interference with trade, it is sometimes necessary amongst
barbarians to prevent it cutting its own throat.
The following statement of our losses at Bombay or Zanzibar may be
useful to future travellers who are advised to bring out direct
bills to H. B. M.’s Consulate. Here they must buy, despite high
prices and roguery, cloth and wires, beads and cattle, or they run
the risk of carrying useless stock. A letter of credit from a London
banker for £500, payable at Bombay, realized only Co.’s rs 4720, the
rate of exchange happening to be low. The value of 100 German crowns
at Zanzibar then ranging between Co.’s rs 214 and 220, our letter of
credit for Co.’s rs 4720 brought $2205. Thus assuming the rupee at
2_s._ and the dollar at 4_s._ (it is worth about 2_d._ more), our
loss upon £500 amounted to £87.
Bills on England are generally purchaseable at a fair rate: until
lately $5 have been paid for the pound sterling, and the exchange is
now about $4.75. Nothing of the kind, however, is permanent at
Zanzibar; there is no regular market, and the only rule is manfully
to take the best advantage of a neighbour’s necessities.
Usury, made unlawful by the Saving Faith, flourishes as in all the
commercial centres of Islam. Foreign houses doing business at
Zanzibar cannot afford to part with the ready money requisite to
secure their regular and highly-profitable returns of trade. They
therefore borrow at 6 to 9 per cent. large sums from the principal
Arabs and Wasawahili; when lending they refuse less than 33 per
cent. upon the best security, and I have heard of cases in which 40
per cent.—deducted also from the capital—was demanded. Amongst
natives moneys advanced on landed security or bottomry bear interest
of 15-20 per cent. per annum, and pious Shylock salves his
conscience by the sale of an egg or a cucumber. As in Somaliland,
Banyans and large traders advance small ventures of goods, such as a
bale of cloth to the retail vendor, who during the season barters it
upon the coast and in the interior for slaves and ivory, hide,
copal, and grain. In these transactions the interest is enormous;
consequently the merchant rolls in dollars, and the tradesman
manages only to live.
The insurance of vessels is here, as in most parts of the East, a
gambling transaction; barratry cannot be guarded against, and all
manner of fraud is successfully practised. Kojahs and Banyans
underwrite, working upon two systems—‘Fáliserí,’ a corruption of our
‘policy,’ because a regular agreement is written out; and ‘Patán
Sulámat,’ (the safety of the keel); in the latter nothing can be
claimed unless there be a total loss. It is, however, the popular
form: when a vessel has been built and not paid for, or when money
is wanted to finish her, the creditor insists upon Patán Salámat
before she goes to sea. I may here add, that refitting at Zanzibar,
as at Mauritius, is exorbitant: a spar worth $15 to $20 will be
charged $350 to $370.
Between Sept. 16, 1832, and May 26, 1834, the arrivals of
square-rigged vessels were 41 with 7559 tons. Dr Ruschenberger gives
the items as follows: United States, 32 (5497 tons), including 4
whalers, and of these 20 were from Salim; English, 7 (1403), French,
1 (340), and Spanish, 1 (319).
Between 1852 and 1857 the Island was visited by a greatly increased
number, as is shown by the following table.
──────────────┬────┬──────┬────┬──────┬────┬──────┬────┬──────┬────┬──────
│’52.│ TONS.│’53.│ TONS.│’54.│ TONS.│’55.│ TONS.│’56.│ TONS.
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
American(U.S.)│ 36│ 9,187│ 30│ 7,519│ 36│ 9,901│ 28│ 9,142│ 24│ 7,215
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
English │ 6│ 1,627│ 3│ 587│ 2│ 1,300│ 5│ 1,609│ 3│ 1,517
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
Hamburg │ 10│ 2,386│ 14│ 3,504│ 15│ 3,981│ 15│ 3,698│ 20│ 5,438
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
French │ 14│ 4,522│ 18│ 7,452│ 18│ 6,598│ 13│ 5,523│ 23│10,579
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
Arab │ 5│ 2,110│ 9│ 4,278│ 5│ 2,113│ 3│ 1,448│ 12│ 3,938
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
Spanish │ 3│ 624│ 1│ 200│ │ 460│ 2│ 460│ 2│ 460
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
Portuguese │ │ │ 1│ 215│ 2│ 338│ │ │ 3│ 930
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
Hanoverian │ │ │ │ │ 1│ 220│ │ │ │
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
Prussian │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 1│ 600
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
Danish │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 1│ 450
──────────────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────┼────┼──────
TOTAL │ 74│20,456│ 76│23,265│ 81│24,911│ 66│21,871│ 89│31,127
│ │ │ │ │ 79?│ │ │21,880│ │
Thus in five years the tonnage show an increase of 10,671. The
French ships, however, whose arrivals have greatly increased, mostly
came out in ballast, and loaded with sesamum, cocoa-meat, and
cloves. Moreover, it became the custom to enter the ship twice: if,
for instance, she visited the coast after touching at the Island,
she appeared a second time upon the lists after her return. Thus,
whilst the tonnage was greatly advanced, exportation did not keep
pace with it.
In 1858 the returns of merchant shipping arrivals at the port of
Zanzibar showed 89 of all nationalities, with 26,959 tons. In the
next year this total fell off, owing to the cholera and political
troubles, to 80 bottoms, with 23,340 tons. In 1861-2 the commerce
was carried on by 55 ships, and 23 men-of-war visited or revisited
the Island. In 1862-3 there were 57 trading vessels and 31 cruisers
(Commercial Reports recorded at the Foreign Office from H. B. M.’s
consuls).
I found it impracticable to obtain any information concerning the
average or the total value of native cargoes.
Zanzibar being the general depôt for this portion of the African
coast, shows a list of exports contrasting greatly with its
industry. The staple productions of the Island are the cocoa-nut and
cloves—of these details have been given in the preceding pages. The
produce of the coast is contained in slaves, in copal, and in ivory
of the finest description, hides and cowries, rafters and red
pepper, ambergris and beeswax, hippopotamus’ teeth, and rhinoceros’
horn. In 1859 the export of ivory amounted to 488,600 lbs. (value
£146,666); of copal to 875,875 lbs. (value £37,166); and of cloves
to 4,860,100 lbs. (value £55,666). These figures are taken from the
commercial reports of H. B. M.’s consuls, and are probably much
understated. I have already mentioned most of the main items of
exports. The following details will complete the list, and for
further information I may refer the reader to Appendix No. I.
(Commerce, Imports and Exports), the Lake Regions of Central Africa.
Beeswax is produced in small quantities upon the Island; the slaves,
however, will not allow the hives to remain unplundered—they devour
the contents, wax and all. It is also brought from the Chole islet
and from the mainland: here, as in Abyssinia and Harar, hives are
hung to the tall trees about the villages. The produce is like our
‘virgin honey,’ oily, but very impure: it greatly differs in taste;
some of it is excellent, other kinds are almost flavourless. Upon
the coast there is a dark and exceedingly sweet variety often found
with the small bee smothered in it: the people declare that a
spoonful of it will cause intoxication, like the celebrated produce
of Asia Minor.
Hippopotamus’ teeth in 1857 were still sent to Europe and to Bombay,
principally for making sword hilts and knife handles: in America
porcelain was supplanting them at the dentists’. Rhinoceros’ horns,
mentioned in the Periplus about Rhapta (chap. xvii.), were exported
to Arabia and Central Asia. Hides and skins, chiefly of bullocks and
goats, with spoils of the wild cattle, the zebra and the antelope,
were brought for exportation from the Northern coast. Ivory was,
after slaves, the only produce for which caravans visited the far
interior, and both articles, which the expense of free porterage
rendered inseparable, were sold to retail dealers on the coast.
Sometimes it was dragged over the ground protected by grass and
matting, with cords made fast to holes bored in the bamboo or hollow
base fitting into the alveolar process. The best in the market was
held to be the fine heavy material brought down from Ugogo by the
Wanyamwezi porters, who, on their long journey, collect ivories of
many different kinds. These are rufous outside, and abnormally
heavy—a tusk apparently of 60 lbs. will weigh in the scales 70. The
duty varies according to the district which supplies it: for
instance, that of Unyamwezi is charged $14 for 36 lbs.; Mombasah,
Lamu, and Kilwa, $4; the Pangani and Tanga countries $8, and
Somaliland only $2. In the African animal the female’s tusk is often
longer and thicker than in the long-legged variety of India and
Ceylon. At the Cape of Good Hope, where the land is poor, the
elephant may reach twelve feet, whilst northwards, where forage
abounds, the average is three feet shorter, whilst the tusks are,
according to travellers, much bulkier than in the taller beast. This
may be explained by the more regular development of the defences
where the animal is undisturbed by man. Ivory grows as long as its
owner grows. At Zanzibar they declare that the animal which bears
monster tusks is not, as might be expected, of mammoth stature: it
is a moderate-sized beast, high in the forehand, and sloping away
behind, like a hyæna. We have found it necessary to preserve our
elephants in Ceylon, but in Africa the grounds extend from N. lat.
10° to S. lat. 25°, and clean across the Continent. There is no
present fear of the market wanting supply: the annual deaths of over
100,000 would be a mere trifle considering the extent of country
over which the herds roam.
Zanzibar exports her produce to the four quarters of the world as
follows:
Europe and the United States take cocoa, Kopra (dried meat of the
nut), cocoa-nut oil, and orchilla; copal, ivory, cloves and stems,
hippopotamus’ teeth, tortoise-shell, and a little ambergris;
cowries, hides, goat-skins, horns, gums, beeswax, and valuable woods
in small quantities. The exports to France are chiefly sesamum and
Kopra. There is no direct trade with Great Britain. Vessels from the
United States usually touch, before going home, at Aden and Maskat,
where they fill up with coffee and dates. India demands chiefly
ivory, copal, and cloves; she also buys hippopotamus’ tusks,
rhinoceros’ horns, cocoa-nuts, beeswax, tabkir or snuff, arrow-root,
gums, and Zanzibar rafters. It is asserted in a journal of the R.
Geographical Society (vol. xii., March, 1856) that Zanzibar Island
and Coast have an annual export and import trade of £300,000 with
Western, and of £150,000 with Eastern India. Arabia takes the same
articles as Hindostan. Madagascar prefers British and foreign
manufactured goods and coarse Bombay earthenware, flowered basins,
and similar goods. This trade was declining in 1857, and vessels
were not allowed to enter any of the ports. The Mrima or African
coast requires American domestics, indigo-dyed cloths, cotton
checks, common broad-cloths (especially crimson), Indian and Maskat
stuffs, Surat and other caps, china and iron wares, brass chains,
and brass and iron wires (Nos. 7 and 8). It also imports Venetian
beads, a very delicate article of trade, each district having its
own peculiar variety; subject also to perpetual change, and refusing
to take any of the 400 kinds except those in fashion. Finally, a
dangerous commerce, and highly disadvantageous to the white race,
was carried on in arms and ammunition: coarse gunpowder was supplied
in kegs; and one European house exported, it is said, in a single
year 13,000 muskets, thus overdoing the trade. The weapon must have
a black butt, and an elephant on the lock, otherwise it is hardly
saleable; moreover, the price should not exceed three to four
shillings. The old Tower musket was a prime favourite.
The following is a summary of the exports from the port of Zanzibar
in 1859, when the East African Expedition left the coast.
─────────────────────────┬───────────────────┬────────────────
Exported to │ Local Money. │ English Money.
─────────────────────────┼───────────────────┼────────────────
│ German Crowns. │ £ S. D.
─────────────────────────┼───────────────────┼────────────────
Great Britain │ 25,050 │ 5,566 15 0
United States │ 534,100 │ 118,688 18 0
France │ 247,500 │ 55,000 0 0
Hamburg │ 161,000 │ 35,777 15 0
British India │ 467,500 │ 103,888 18 0
Cutch │ 313,400 │ 69,644 10 0
Arabia │ 105,200 │ 23,377 14 6
East Coast of Africa │ 1,233,900 │ 274,200 0 0
West Coast of Africa │ 230,000 │ 51,111 2 6
Madagascar │ 73,850 │ 16,411 2 0
│ ————————————————│ ——————— —— ——
Total Value of Exports │ 3,391,200 │ 753,666 15 0
─────────────────────────┴───────────────────┴────────────────
The principal articles of export from the port of Zanzibar were as
follows:
──────────────────────────────┬──────────────┬───────────────
Names of Articles. │ Quantities │ Value in
│ Exported │English Money.
──────────────────────────────┼──────────────┼───────────────
_Produce of the Island of │ │
Zanzibar, and East Coast of │ │ £ S. D.
Africa._ │ │
Ivory lbs. │ 488,600 │ 146,666 18 0
Cloves ” │ 4,860,100 │ 55,666 14 0
Gum Copal ” │ 875,875 │ 37,166 18 0
Hides number │ 95,000 │ 25,553 12 0
Cowries lbs. │ 8,016,000 │ 51,444 9 0
Sesamum Seed ” │ 8,388,360 │ 20,800 0 0
Cocoa-nuts ” │ 1,750,000 │ 2,711 5 0
Kopra (dried ” │ 2,450,000 │ 13,333 7 0
Cocoa-nut) │ │
Cocoa-nut Oil ” │ 252,000 │ 4,066 15 0
Rafters number │ 20,000 │ 1,250 0 0
Red Pepper lbs. │ 176,000 │ 1,422 6 0
│ │ ———— ———- ——
Value of Local Produce│ │ 360,082 4 0
exported│ │
_Articles of Foreign Manufacture._
American Cottons bales │ 6,200 │ 103,890 0 0
English Cottons { ” │ 950 }│ 35,895 0 0
{ boxes │ 100 }│
Indian Cottons { bales │ 1,100 }│ 50,089 0 0
{ pieces │ 13,200 }│
Muscat Loongees bales │ 200 │ 10,000 0 0
Venetian Beads barrels│ 900 │ 25,555 12 0
Brass Wire ” │ 225 │ 8,444 9 0
Muskets number │ 20,400 │ 15,111 2 0
Gunpowder barrels│ 10,500 │ 11,666 15 0
China and Iron Ware │ │ 7,111 0 0
Bullion German │ 370,000 │ 82,222 5 0
crowns │ │
│ -│ ———— —— —-
Value of 21 chief Articles of│ £│ 710,067 7 0
Export│ │
The following is a summary of the value of the import and export
trade of Zanzibar, borrowed from the consular reports of 1864.
£
1861-62 Imports 361,837
Exports 427,016
————
Total 788,853
1862-63 Imports 544,903
Exports 467,053
————
Total 1,011,956
————
Total increase during 1862-63 223,103
The distribution of the above trade was as follows:—
IMPORTS.
──────────────────────────────┬────────┬────────┬─────────┬───────
From what place. │1861-62.│1862-63.│Increase.│Decrease.
──────────────────────────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┬┴───────
│ £ │ £ │ £ │ £
United Kingdom │ │ 24,908│ 24,908│
British India │ 117,790│ 157,660│ 39,870│
Protected States of India │ 19,789│ 18,336│ │ 1,453
Arabia and Persian Gulf │ 10,063│ 10,572│ 509│
Coast of Africa and adjacent │ 115,856│ 206,394│ 90,538│
islands │ │ │ │
France │ 29,305│ 34,500│ 5,195│
Italy │ │ 7,263│ 7,263│
United States of America │ 27,789│ 26,179│ │ 1,610
Hamburg │ 41,242│ 52,674│ 11,432│
│————————│————————│————————│ ———————
Total £│ 361,837│ 544,902│ 183,065│
──────────────────────────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴────────
Zanzibar imports from Europe and America silks, cottons, chintzes,
and calicoes, muskets and gunpowder, beads and gunny-bags, notions
and knick-nacks. The Americans chiefly send ‘domestics’ from the
Massachusetts Mills. This year some thousand pieces of English
cotton were sold, to the detriment of that specialty, and in 1863
even American merchants were compelled by war to import Manchester
goods. French vessels bring out little but specie, there being
hardly any demand for French manufactured goods. The total of French
imports in 1859 was $516,451, of which $400,000 were bullion and
$41,000 Venetian beads. Imports from Great Britain pass through
India. Hamburg ships are laden with commissioned articles, mostly
English,—glass ware and mirrors, English lead, sail-cloth in small
pieces, broad-cloths, and similar articles. From India come English
manufactured goods, cotton piece-goods, long-cloths, inferior
broad-cloths, beads, brass and iron wires, coarse cutlery (English
and foreign), bar and round iron, hardware, English muskets, tin,
pig-lead, copper, spelter, china and earthenware; cereals in
general, but especially rice, ghi, sweet-oil (cocoa), bitter-oil
(sesamum), spices and frankincense, sugar and sugar-candy. Maskat
supplies principally ornamental cloths (lungi, &c.), salt,
sharks’-flesh, and fish-oil. The African Mrima contributes chiefly
slaves, ivory, and copal, coffee and tobacco, cocoas and cloves;
cereals, especially Jowari or holcus; ghi, cowries, and other
shells, Zanzibar rafters and firewood, rhinoceros’ horns and
hippopotamus’ teeth. Small pigs of excellent copper, and malachite
of a fine quality, have been brought from the country of the
Cazembe, and the analogy of Angola would lead us to expect rich
mines in the interior. Madagascar contributes only tortoise-shell
and a little rice, the latter husked or parboiled, to prevent it
being used as seed by the importers. This custom is connected with
some superstition: a few years ago the inhabitants of Socotra sold
some she-goats to a ship’s crew, and complained that they were not
visited by rain for several seasons. In 1863, wishing to introduce
cocoa into Fernando Po, I bought a sack of seed from Prince Island,
and found that all had been scalded. The trade with India and Arabia
is carried on by ‘Daus’ and Batelas, of which there are neither
registers nor returns. Weights and measures vary greatly at
Zanzibar, where no three exactly correspond. There are no standards:
stone is used instead of metal, and the rapacity of the seller has
introduced notable differences into the sizes and contents of one
and the same denomination.
The Wakiyyah, or ounce, the unit here as amongst most of the
Arabic-speaking races, is the weight of a German dollar = Engl.
avoirdupois, 15.50 drs.
12 Wakiyyat =1 Ruba Man (¼ Ma¼und)= 11 oz. 10.50 drs.
16 Wakiyyat (& 1 Anna)=1 Ratl (lb.)= 15 8.00
24 Wakiyyat =1 Nisf Man (½ Maund)= 1 lb. 7 5.00
48 Wakiyyat, or German crowns=1 Man 2 lbs. 14 10.00
(Maund)=
2 Man ($96 weight) =1 Kaylah 5 13 4.00
(measure)=
6 Kaylah =1 Farsaleh (fraisle)= 35 0 0
10 Farásileh =1 Jizleh= 350 0 0
2 Jizleh =1 Kandi (Candy)= 700 0 0
The weight of the German crown thus regulated all others, and of the
former 16 may be assumed in round numbers to form the Ratl, or Arab
lb. Of course no standard is kept. Without wear the 16 coins should
weigh 449.568 grammes, or about 4 grammes less than the English
avoirdupois. According to Captain Guillain the average weighs only
442 grammes, and the loss becomes 7 grammes. Thus the Man, which
should be 1.348 Kilo., is reduced to 1.326; and the Farsaleh of 12
Man from 16.184 Kilos to 15.912. Practically, in order to facilitate
business, the Farsaleh or unit of higher value is made equal to 35
light lbs. avoirdupois or 15.874 Kilos, but the natives still assume
the weight of the Man at 48 piastres. The Kandi is the unit of
freight: thus the voyage to Bombay is said to cost $4.50 to $5 per
Candy. The Kandi for ivory = 21 Farasileh (= 333.354 Kilos), for
copal and cloves = 22 Farasileh. Tonnage is represented by the
Jizleh, a very uncertain weight, of which 2.103 to 3 are equivalent
to the Kandi.
The English pound avoirdupois is generally used. The Maskat Maund is
8¾ lbs. or 9 lbs., trebling that of Zanzibar, 2 lbs. 14 oz. 10 drs.
Ivory and cloves, coffee, gums, and similar articles are mostly sold
by the Farsaleh.[78]
The measures of length, besides the English foot, which is generally
recognized in commerce, are—
2½ Fitr (the short span between } = 1 Zirá’a, or cubit (= 18 inches),
thumb and forefinger) }
2 Shibr (long spans between } = 1 Zirá’a, or cubit.[79]
thumb and auricularis) }
2 Zirá’a = 1 Wár (= 1 yard).
2 Wár (4 Zirá’a) = 1 Ba’a, or fathom.
The Kadam or pace is roughly applied as a land measure. The learned
use as itinerary distances the Hindu ‘Kos’ and the Persian Farsakh
(parasang), without, however, any regularity. Marches are reckoned
by the Sa’at, or hour, somewhat like the pipe of the S. African
Boer.
The corn measures are—
1½ Ratl to 2 Ratl = 1 Kibabah.
4 Kibabah = 1 Kayla.
8 Kaylah to 16 Kaylah = 1 Farrah (فره).
60 Kaylah = 1 Jizleh.
112 Kaylah to 120 Kaylah = 1 Khandí.
The Kaylah, which is the standard, varies from 5 lbs. to 8 lbs.,
according to the grain or pulse measured. In parts of the Benadir it
is a little more than half that of Zanzibar, and expresses only 2.50
Kibabahs. The Farrah also is of many different capacities; it is
generally a jar whose capacity is determined by its contents in
Kaylahs.
The currency at present is—
8 Pice = 1 Anna (in India 4 pice) here a nominal coin =
3⅛_d._
2 Annas = 1 Tumni (6¾_d._).
26 Pice = 1 Pistoline, or small Robo.
32 Pice = 1 Robo (Ruba’ kirsh, quarter dollar = 1_s._
1½_d._).
16 Annas (4 Robos, = 1 Riyal or German crown = 4_s._ 2_d._ (here
or 128 Pice) equal to the Spanish dollar).
9½ dollars = 1 Half-doubloon.
18 or 19 dollars = 1 Doubloon.
German crowns or Maria Theresa (the standard coin) now becoming
rare, the following coins have been declared legal tenders at the
rates here specified.
The gold ounce = Maria Theresa $15.00
English sovereign 4.75
Gold Napoleon (20 francs) 3.75
” (10 francs) 1.7⁄8ths
” (5 francs) 0.15⁄16ths
Silver 5-franc piece 0.94 pice
Indian rupee 0.47
Formerly the Austrian Maria Theresa, coined at Milan, known as Girsh
Aswad (black dollar), was the only legal tender. Its weight should
be grammes 28.098. The Spanish or Pillar dollar, called Girsh Abyaz
(white dollar), Abu Madfa’ (the ‘Father of Cannon’ from the
columns), Girsh Moghrebi (the western dollar), and Abu Takeh (Father
of Window, whence the common trade term ‘Patac’), generally equalled
it in value. At times, however, there was an agio of 2 per cent. in
favour of the Austrian. The Mexican dollar suffered discount of 5 to
10 per cent. in favour of the Maria Theresa. The Bolivian was
unknown. The Company’s rupee was current, but valued at 220 to 223
per 100 Austrians. After abundant dunning on the part of the French,
who with scant conscience or delicacy insisted upon their silver
being taken, the late Sayyid ordered 110 five-franc pieces to be the
equivalent of 100 Maria Theresas: the bazar, however, demanded 112.
It is curious that while the Half-doubloon never varies, the
Doubloon is worth sometimes $18, sometimes $19.
Cloth is sold by the following measures:
2 Shibr = 1 Zirá’a, or cubit.
4 Zirá’a = 1 Saub, Tobe, or Shukkah.
2 Saub = 1 Doti, or Duti.
2 Doti = 1 Jurah, here generally pronounced Gora.
20 to 30 yards = 1 Takah.
The Saub or Tobe is at Zanzibar half-size of the Somali country. The
Takah or piece varies greatly. That of ‘Merkani,’ American
domestics, is generally of 30 yards. The Arabs are no judges of
broad-cloth: remnants are usually imported, as none would venture
upon a bale: often half a foot will be stolen from the whole length
of the cloth, and a false selvage sewed on.
Beads are thus sold—
1 Zirá’a = 1 Kaytab, or Kátá, a string about one cubit long.
35 lbs. = 1 Farsaleh.
Ghee is sold by the eighth, quarter, or half Maund, or Maund (3
lbs.). The Kiski, or earthen pot, contains from 50 to 52 lbs.
Vegetables and manioc are sold by the Pakhacheh بقاجه ‘package,’ or
bundle, which varies greatly in size, according as the article is
dear or cheap.
Salt is thus sold—
10 Kaylah (60 lbs.) = 1 Kandha (a
basket).
17 Farasileh (of Cutch salt) = 1 Kandhi.
22 Farasileh (Surat) = 1 Kandhi.
Coffee is sometimes sold by the Farsaleh of 7½ lbs., because that is
the Mocha weight.
Dates are sometimes sold by the Farsaleh of 70 lbs.
Cocoa-nuts by the 100 or 1000.
Timber and hides by the Kurjah, or score. Fuel in little bundles.
The following is a tariff of articles purchasable in the bazar
during the month of May, 1857. The reader, however, is warned that
the price of almost everything was then exceedingly high.
_Grains._
Rice (Bombay best) 17 German crowns per Kandi.
” Bengal 14 ” ”
” Zanzibar best 1 German crown per 5 Kaylah.
” ” 2nd 1 ” 5½ ”
quality
” ” 3rd ” 1 ” 6½ ”
” Indian (red) 1 ” 7 ”
Holcus or Jowari (Ar. Durrah and Taam, Kis. Mtámá, Ang. Kafir Corn)—
Coast Grain 1 German crown per 15 Kaylah.
Indian ” 1 ” ” 16 ”
At harvest time even 130 Kaylah may be bought for a dollar.
Muhindy or maize—
Coast grain 1 German crown per 16 Kaylah.
Wheat (all imported)—
1st quality 10 German crowns per Kandi.
2nd ” 9 ” ”
Flour (America) 4 ” per barrel.
” (Maskat) 2 to 3 ” ” Juniyah.
Bájri, Arabic
Dukhn, Guinea
corn, Pennisetum
typhoideum
(imported) the
best from Cutch 1 German crown per 13 Kaylah.
Of this grain not more than 50 sacks are grown on the Island.
_Pulse._
Lobiya (best and largest
is the white from
Mozambique) 1 German crown per 8 Kaylah.
Lobiya (smaller reddish) 1 ” ” 10 ”
” (small red) 1 ” ” 12 ”
” (inferior) 1 ” ” 14 ”
Chaná, Arab. Hummus,
Persian Nukhud, Kis.
‘dengu’ Anglo-Indian
‘gram’ from Port. Grão German
(Mandavie best) 12 crowns per Kandi.
Chaná (Banjáru red,
called black) 8 ” ”
Chaná (Jambusiri yellow,
called white) 8 ” ”
Sesamum (Tel, Kunjid, or
Futa) 1 German crown per 7 Kaylah.
This article has greatly varied of late in price: from 6 to 8½
Kaylah have been bought for a dollar.
Thúr[80] (Arab. Túriyán
Kis. Baradi) 1 German crown per 10 Kaylah.
Mung (Persian Mash Kis.
Chiroko) 1 ” ” 9 ”
(small and green, boiled and eaten in pillows.)
Urat[81] (or Papri Kis.
P’hawi) 1 German crown per 10 Kaylah.
Mustard seed 1 ” ” 12 ”
Mahogo or Manioc, five small pieces for a pice. It is
extraordinarily dear.
Cucumbers—three per pice. They are brought from the coast.
Betel-nut—from seven to eight per pice.
Betel-leaves—the Rabtah of 30 leaves (it sometimes contains 50) for
a pice.
_Fruits._
Cocoa-nuts—7½ German crowns per 1000.
Mangos now a fancy price—half a dollar will be paid for the Kafír,
or basket, which costs 4 or 5 pice in the season.
Jack-fruit—3, 4, or 5 pice a piece.
Oranges now in season. Three pice for 50 or 60 good fruit, and 100
if inferior.
Plantains are out of season. From half a dollar to two dollars per
bunch.
Pine-apples rare—5, 6, or 7 pice each. When cheap they are to be had
for half a pice.
_Dates._
Best quality ¾ German crown per Farsaleh.
2nd ” 11 Annas ”
3rd ” 10 ”
4th ” 9 ”
_Ghee._
Best quality 8 German crowns per Farsaleh.
2nd ” 7½ ” ”
3rd ” 6 ” ”
_Meats._
Goats’ flesh 1 German crown per 10 lbs.
Mutton 1 ” ” 11 lbs.
Beef is sold by the bullock, costing on an average $8.
Fowls—8 large, 12 half-fowls, or 16 chickens, $1.
Ducks—(the pair), $1.
Geese—(each), $1.
Sharks’ meat, salted—one piece about 1 oz. weight per pice.
Eggs—One per pice; when cheap, three.
Milk—From 6 to 8 pice per bottle.
_Sugars._
Soft 3¾ German crowns per Farsaleh.
Candy 6 ” ”
Halwa 1 ” per 8 Maunds.
Honey is not procurable at this season. Bees-wax varies from 7 to 8
dollars per Farsaleh.
_Salt_ (imported)—1 German crown per 43 Kaylah. During the season 60
Kaylah may be had.
_Coffees._
Mocha 6 German crowns per Farsaleh.
Cochin 5½ ” ”
_Tea_—A very inferior kind is sold by Kojahs for 4 Annas, and
another but little better for 6 Annas, the pound.
_Oils._
Sweet (cocoa) 2¾ German crowns per Farsaleh.
Bitter (sesamum) 3¾ ” ”
Turpentine 2 ” per gallon.
Linseed (bad) 1¾ ” ”
_Spices._
Black pepper 3¾ German crowns per Farsaleh.
Red ditto now fetches fancy prices.
Cloves 1⅞ German crowns per Farsaleh.
Ginger 1¾ ” ”
Nutmegs 30 ” ”
_Garm Masallah._
Zira (cummin) 3 German crowns per Farsaleh.
Garlic 4 ” ”
Coriander 1 ” per 15 Kaylah.
Cinnamon 7¼ ” per Farsaleh.
Cardamoms 27 ” ”
Turmeric,
” best quality 2 ” ”
” second 1¼ ” ”
Ginger 1¾ ” ”
Camphor 6 Annas per pound.
_Metals._
Lead 1 German crown per 3 Maunds (9
lbs.).
Tin, best 10 ” per Farsaleh.
” second 9 ” ”
quality
Iron (Swedish) 2¼ ” ”
” (English) 1 and 6 Annas ”
Brass wire (No. 8) 1¼ German crowns per Maund.
” (No. 1 ” ”
7)
” (fine) ¾ ” ”
Iron wire (No. 8) 5 ” ”
” (No. 7) 4 ” ”
” (fine) 3 ” ”
There is no copper wire, as the Arabs refuse to pay the price; yet
some tribes in the interior demand it.
_Various articles._
Copal (best) 9 German crowns per Farsaleh.
” (2nd) 7 ” ”
” (3rd) 6½ ” ”
” (inferior) 4 ” ”
Wax Candles 12 Annas the
dozen.
Formerly the Americans brought excellent candles; the Arabs,
however, fancied that they contained pigs’ grease, and now none are
procurable.
French 4 German crowns per ream.
Writing-paper
2nd quality 2 ” ”
3rd quality 14 Annas ”
Post-paper 1½ German crowns ”
Portuguese 2½ ” ”
_Hides._
Brava 23 German crowns per Korjah
(20).
Pemba 10 ” ”
Common 9½ ” ”
_Goat-skins._
1st quality 2½ German crowns ”
2nd ditto 1½ ” ”
_Soap (European)._
20 bars, in box 1¾ German crown.
12 cakes, perfumed 1 ”
”6 cakes, in box ¾ ”
12 cakes, inferior ½ ”
Country soap 1½ ” per Farsaleh.
Potash ¾ ” ”
A few cigars are sold by the shopkeepers. They are of very inferior
quality, and cost about half a dollar for a bundle of 25.
_Paint._
Red, per tub 1¾ German
crowns.
Black ” 2 ”
White ” 1¾ ”
Blue ” 2 ”
Pitch 2 ” per Farsaleh.
Tar 1½ ”
-----
Footnote 78:
Farsaleh, in the plural Farasileh, is supposed to be an Arabic
word, but it is unintelligible to the Arabs, except when they sell
coffee. I can only suggest that it is derived from our parcel, and
that we, on the other hand, have taken from it the word fraisle
(of coffee).
Footnote 79:
Capt. Guillain finds amongst the Wasawahili that the cubit
averages 45 centi-metres, and amongst the Somal 48 to 49. This
agrees with my observations. The latter race is not only tall and
gaunt; it has also a peculiarly long and simian forearm: moreover,
when cloth is to be measured, the biggest man in the village is
generally summoned.
Footnote 80:
The Banyans import this pulse (Cajanus Indicus) split, skin, boil,
and eat it with ghi; sometimes with rice and ghi, like Dall. It is
supposed to be a very windy food.
Footnote 81:
Unknown in Persia, this little black grain, like poppy seed, comes
from Bombay, and is eaten boiled with ghi.
APPENDIX II.
A. B.
THERMOMETRIC OBSERVATIONS IN EAST AFRICA.
Appendix A.
OBSERVATIONS TAKEN IN ZANZIBAR TOWN, BETWEEN MARCH, 1853, AND JUNE,
1853.
────────────────────────────┬──────────┬──────────┬──────────┬──────────
Register. │ March, │ April, │ May, │ June,
│ 1853. │ 1853. │ 1853. │ 1853.
────────────────────────────┼──────────┼──────────┼──────────┼──────────
Extreme height of barometer │ 30.140 │ 30.100 │ 30.200 │ 30.272
during the month │ │ │ │
Extreme depression │ 29.892 │ 29.938 │ 29.990 │ 30.088
” ” ” │ │ │ │
Mean of barometer at sunrise│ 30.044 │ 30.023 │ 30.114 │ 30.166
” ” 10 A.M.│ 30.061 │ 30.029 │ 30.116 │ 30.189
” ” 4 P.M.│ 29.985 │ 29.992 │ 30.080 │ 30.135
” ” 10 P.M.│ 30.016 │ 30.016 │ 30.084 │ 30.157
Extreme height of dry │ 90° │ 87° │ 86° │ 81°
thermometer during the │ │ │ │
month │ │ │ │
Extreme depression │ 79° │ 76° │ 72° │ 73°
” ” │ │ │ │
Mean of thermometer at │ 83°.290 │ 80°.766 │ 77°.807 │ 75°.300
sunrise │ │ │ │
” ” 10 A.M.│ 84°.096 │ 82°.366 │ 79°.450 │ 77°.600
” ” 4 P.M.│ 85°.193 │ 82°.966 │ 79°.419 │ 78°.800
” ” 10 P.M.│ 83°.806 │ 82°.166 │ 78°.677 │ 77°.866
Greatest difference between │ 8° │ 8° │ 8° │ 11°
dry and wet bulbs │ │ │ │
least ” ” ” │ 4° │ 2° │ 2° │ 5°
Extreme fall of rain, inches│ 1.7 │ 3.76 │ 5.63 │ none
Total fall of rain, inches │ 5.34 │ 18.34 │ 24.03 │ none
General direction of wind at│N. and E. │ S.W. │ S.W. │ S.W.
sunrise. │ │ │ │
” ” 10 A.M.│N. and W. │ S.W. │ S.W. │ S.W.
” ” 4 P.M.│N. and W. │ S.W. and │ S.W. │ S.W.
│ │ S.E. │ │
” ” 10 P.M.│ S.E. and │ S.W. and │ S.W. │ S.W. and
│ N.E. │ S.E. │ │ S.E.
│ │ │ │
NOTE. The evaporating dish │ │ │ │
had not reached Zanzibar │ │ │ │
when these observations │ │ │ │
were recorded. │ │ │ │
N.B. Medium temperature │ │ │ │
generally assumed to be │ │ │ │
79° (F.), and the mercury │ │ │ │
rarely rises above 89° │ │ │ │
(F.) │ │ │ │
OBSERVATIONS TAKEN IN ZANZIBAR TOWN, BETWEEN JULY, 1853, AND
FEBRUARY, 1854.
───────────────────────────────┬─────────┬─────────┬─────────┬────────┬─────────
Register. │ July, │November,│December,│January,│February,
│ 1853. │ 1853. │ 1853. │ 1854. │ 1854.
───────────────────────────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼────────┼─────────
Extreme height of barometer │ 30.362 │ 30.184 │ 30.132 │ 30.142 │ 30.104
during the month │ │ │ │ │
Extreme depression │ 30.112 │ 29.886 │ 29.928 │ 29.900 │ 29.850
” ” ” │ │ │ │ │
Mean of barometer at sunrise │ 30.227 │ 30.120 │ 30.050 │ 30.035 │ 30.023
” ” 10 A.M.│ 30.237 │ 30.132 │ 30.068 │ 30.049 │ 30.051
” ” 3 P.M.│ 30.190 │ 30.050 │ 29.993 │ 29.986 │ 29.961
” ” 10 P.M.│ 30.181 │ 30.088 │ 30.014 │ 29.977 │ 29.986
Extreme height of dry thermo- │ 82° │ 88° │ 89° │ 90° │ 90°
meter during the month │ │ │ │ │
Extreme depression │ 70° │ 75° │ 77° │ 82° │ 78°
” ” ” │ │ │ │ │
Mean of thermometer at sunrise │ 74°.645 │ 80°.066 │ 82°.030 │83°.580 │ 83°.892
” ” 10 A.M.│ 77°.741 │ 83°.300 │ 84°.483 │85°.870 │ 86°
” ” 4 P.M.│ 78°.483 │ 84°.666 │ 86°.095 │86°.741 │ 87°
” ” 10 P.M.│ 78°.064 │ 84°.433 │ 85°.129 │86°.161 │ 86°.535
Greatest difference between │ 11° │ 11° │ 11° │ 10° │ 11°
dry and wet bulbs │ │ │ │ │
Least ” ” ” │ 3° │ 3° │ 3° │ 5° │ 5°
Extreme fall of rain, inches │ 0.96 │ 2.34 │ 2.10 │ 2.32 │ 1.84
Total fall of rain, inches │ 1.38 │ 11.80 │ 7.90 │ 12.14 │ 3.44
General direction of wind │ S.W. │S.E. and │ N.E. │ N.E. │ N.E.
│ │ S.W. │ │ │
at sunrise │ │ │ │ │
” ” 10 A.M.│ S.W. │S.E. and │ N.E. │ N.E. │ N.E.
│ │ S.W. │ │ │
” ” 4 P.M.│S.W. and │ S.W. │ N.E. │ N.E. │ N.E.
│ S.E. │ │ │ │
” ” 10 P.M.│S.W. and │ S.W. │N.E. and │ N.E. │ N.E.
│ S.E. │ │ S.E. │ │
───────────────────────────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼────────┼─────────
│ Total │Greatest │ Least │ │
│ evap- │ evap- │ evap- │ │
│ oration │ oration │ oration │ │
│ │ in │ in │ │
│ during │ any one │ any one │ │
│ the │ day. │ day. │ │
│ month. │ │ │ │
The evaporating dish showed│ │ │ │ │
In January (1857)inches│ 2.36 │ .09 │ .04 │ │
February ” ” │ 2.19 │ .10 │ .05 │ │
March ” ” │ 2.49 │ .09 │ .06 │ │
April ” ” │ 1.76 │ .10 │ .03 │ │
_APPENDIX B._
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT PANGA-NI AND CHOGWE, FEBRUARY 1857.
───────┬────────────────┬────────────────┬────────────────────────────
Date. │10 A.M. │4 P.M. │Remarks.
───────┼────────────────┼────────────────┼────────────────────────────
4 Feb. │85° │86° 30′ │In house Panga-ni: long
│ │ │ upper room, open to E. and
│ │ │ S. Clear day, fine breeze
│ │ │ from E.
5 ” │87° │86° │
6 ” │87° │89° in boat │Sky clear. High E. wind.
│ │ │ Scud at night.
7 ” │92° } │91° } │Wind N.E. Stars and
│ } hut │ } hut │ moon hidden by scud.
8 ” │89° 30′ } at │90° 30′ } at │At midnight 74°. Heavy
│ } Chogwe│ } Chogwe│ dew. Scud at night.
│ } │ } │ Rain in mountains.
9 ” │78° 30′ │79° │Both obs. made in Tongwe
│ │ │ Fort.
10 ” │85° │ │Obs. taken in shade of rock.
│ │ │ Jungle below Tongwe. Very
│ │ │ hot day.
───────┼────────────────┼────────────────┼────────────────────────────
Sums │604° 0′ │522° 0′ │B. P. Therm, by Newman at
│ │ │ Panga-ni, 212.2 Temp. 85°
│ │ │ Chogway, 212.1 ” 89°
│ │ │ Tongwe, 208.8 ” 81°
Means │86° 17′ │87° 0′ │
OBSERVATIONS MADE ON ROUTE TO FUGA, FEBRUARY, 1857.
───────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬──────────────────────────────
DATE. │ 10 A.M. │ 4 P.M. │ REMARKS
───────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼──────────────────────────────
11 ” │91° (Nullah) │99° (Do.) │N. E. wind. Flaming day. Clear
│ │ │ evening and night.
12 ” │86° 30′ (hut at│96° │Cloudy morn. Hot day. At night
│ Kohode facing│ │ sheet-lightning over
│ N.) │ │ Usumbara hills.
13 ” │87° (tree │92° (3 P.M.) │Wind N. E. Lightning at night.
│ facing N.) │ │ Heavy nimbus from Usumbara,
│ │ │ rain coming up against wind.
14 ” │85° (ditto) │81° Pasunga │S.W. RAINY MONSOON BEGINS.
│ │ under shed │ S.W. wind. Cloudy day. Storm
│ │ │ at 4 P.M. Therm. 76°.
15 ” │80° (shed) │75° hill-top │S.W. wind. Rain in morn and at
│ │ │ night. Mists over hills.
│ │ │ Clouds.
16 ” │79° (hut Fuga) │73° (hut) │N.E. wind. No sun or stars for
│ │ │ lights. Rain at night.
17 ” │72° (hut below │90° Pasunga │S.W. wind. Stormy. Heavy rain
│ Fuga in rain)│ │ 9 to 10 A. M. Canopus
│ │ │ visible.
───────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼──────────────────────────────
Sums │580° 30′ │606° │B. P. at
│ │ │ Kohode, 209.8 ” 80°
│ │ │ Msiki Mguru, 209.8 ” 80°
Means │82° 51′ │86° 34′ │ Pasunga, 209.8 ” 85°
│ │ │ Fuga, 205.0 ” 79°
OBSERVATIONS MADE ON RETURN TO CHOGWE, FEBRUARY, 1857.
───────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬──────────────────────────────
Date. │ 10 A.M. │ 4 P.M. │ Remarks.
───────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼──────────────────────────────
18 Feb.│79° (open air) │ │
19 ” │93° (tree) │84° │At Kizanga. N.E. wind. Rained
│ │ │ half day. At noon in shade
│ │ │ 101°. During storm 76°.
20 ” │89° ditto │90° } │N.E. wind. Rain ceased.
│ │ } Hut, │Stinging sun. Cloudy night.
21 ” │ │87° } Chogwe │N.E. wind. Cloudy. Veiled sky.
22 ” │84° } │86° } │Nimbus from S.W. against wind.
│ │ │ No rain.
23 ” │92° } Hut, │ │N.E. wind. Close, cloudy,
│ │ │ dusty
│ } Chogwe │ │ weather. Hot night.
24 ” │90° } │ │Hot air. Close and cloudy.
│ │ │ Dust like sand.
───────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼──────────────────────────────
Sums │527° │347° │
Means │87° 50′ │86° 45′ │
OBSERVATIONS MADE ON RETURN TO PANGA-NI, FEBRUARY, 1857.
───────┬────────────────────┬────────────────────┬────────────────────────
Date. │ 10 A.M. │ 4 P.M. │ Remarks.
───────┼────────────────────┼────────────────────┼────────────────────────
25 Feb.│90° │89° │Both in hut, Chogwe.
│ │ │ N.E. wind, fine day.,
26 ” │86° │82° │Both in boat. N.E. wind.
│ │ │ Very hot sun. Clear
│ │ │ night.
27 ” │82° 30′ } │85° 30′ } │Leakage, 10 A.M.
│ } Governor’s│ } Governor’s│ Hot night. Cold dews.
28 ” │ } House │85° 30′ } House │Ditto. Clear hot day.
│ } Panga-ni │ } │ Cloudy night.
1 March│84° 30′ } │85° 30′ } │Ditto. Cloudy morn.
│ } │ } │ Fine clear day.
───────┼────────────────────┼────────────────────┼────────────────────────
Sums │343° │427° │
│ │30′ │
Means │85° 45′ │85° 30′ │
APPENDIX II.
C.
METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS
MADE IN 1857, 1858, 1859.
Appendix C.
OBSERVATIONS MADE FROM KAOLE TO ZUNGOMERO, DURING THE MONTHS OF JUNE
AND JULY, 1857.
--------------
DAY
JUNE 28 Barometer at 10 a.m., 30.336; at 4 p.m., 30.646. Therm. at
10 a.m., 83°/(81°); at 4 p.m., 97°/(85°). Zungomero. Cold in
morning, 68°. Clear. Cumulus and high wind at 10 a.m. Hot midday.
Cumulus (5). Wind fell; rose again about 4 p.m.
29 A march. Cold. Pleasant hot clear sun. Clouds, 4 from S.W. At 4
a.m. cool S.W. wind, therm. 84°.
30 Kaole, Kinga-ni, Boma-ni. Barometer at 10 a.m., 30.438; at 4
p.m., 30.232. Therm. at 10 a.m., 83°/81°; at 4 p.m., 80°/78°.
Morning hot. At 9 a.m. clouds, cumulus, and nimbus. At 11 a.m.
rain. Clouds and heat-showers all day.
JULY 1 March. Mkwaju la Mvua-ni. Normal weather. Clouds fleecy,
misty, came up with sun. Heavy rain, huge drops about 1 p.m.
Cloudy during day. Fine night. Wind S.W.
2 March. Morning fine. Nimbus about noon. No rain. Wind S.W.
3 March. Same as yesterday. Wind S.W.
4 Halt. Sick, uncertain. Day as usual. At night, moon, rainbow,
thick clouds. Violent rain. Mcho’o, between 2 Masikas, lasts one
day, and then goes off for a time.
5 March. Clear morning. Hot sun. Mist clouds and nimbus. Few drops
of rain. Splendid night.
6 March. Clear morning. Hot sun. Mist clouds and nimbus. Few drops
of rain. Splendid night.
7 Barometer at 10 a.m., 30.078; at 4 p.m., 30.086. Therm. at 10
a.m., 83°/81°; at 4 p.m., 85°/83°. Clear morning. Hot sun. Mist
clouds and nimbus. Few drops of rain. High wind.
8 March. Wild day. Rain frequent, and in huge drops. Furious winds.
At night cloudy, wind S.W., as usual.
9 March. Alternately hot, cold, and rainy. Violent gusts. Rain heavy
before moon rose. Heavy dew. Wind S.W.
10 March. Morning cloudy. Clear and hot about noon. Fleecy clouds.
No rain. Wind light and S.W.
11 Barometer at 10 a.m., 29.325; at 4 p.m., 29.320. Therm. at 10
a.m., 76°/76°; at 4 p.m., 78°/76°. Cloudy morning.
12 March. Madege Madogo. Day fine. Wind and clouds from S.W. Clouds,
cumulus after 7 and 8. Wind high.
13 March. Kidunda. Day exactly like yesterday.
14 March. Mgeta. Day normal. Cool in morning (70° or 71°), hot in
midday, clouds and cumulus from S.W., and cold at night (68°).
15 March. Kiruru. Day at first misty. Hot sun at noon. Heavy nimbi
from S.W. Torrents of rain at night.
16 Halt. Kiruru. Too sick to observe. Steamy hot day. Damp and
disagreeable. Nimbi from S.W. at night. About 8 p.m. torrents of
rain.
17 Halt. Kiruru. Too sick to observe. Dull day, no sun, wind, or
rain. Sky all clouded over from S.W.
18 March. To Duthumî. Day close. Few clouds from S.W. Morning clear.
Hot sun. Cloudy afternoon. Cold gusty night.
19 to 23 Halt. Too sick to observe. At Duthumî, perfectly uniform
weather. Wind, probably from proximity of hills, from N. and N.E.,
cold and high. Hot sun. Cloudy morn and afternoon. Cold night,
66°. No rain whatever.
24 March. To Bakera. Red hot day with cold wind. Few cirri from S.W.
Cold night.
25 March. To Zungomero. Bright morning. At noon heavy nimbi from S.
and S.W. No rain.
26 Halt. Too sick to observe. Little wind. Hot occasional sun.
Cloudy from S.W. In hut therm. never varied from between 70° and
80°.
27 Halt. Too sick to observe. Cool cloudy day from the S.W.
Impossible to make observations. Very damp country, and mists
easily rise.
REMARKS.—Air, as Baloch say, lighter and more healthy than Zanzibar.
Showers, accompanied and followed by raffales of cold wind.
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT ZUNGOMERO, ETC., DURING THE MONTHS OF JULY AND
AUGUST, 1857.
--------------
Climates—
1. Zungomero and Rivers—Rain every day or night. Violent bursts
after every 2 or 3 days. Very unwholesome. S.W. wind. Cold from
below.
2. Goma Hills—Fog, mist in morn. Then clear day. Cold S. wind.
Wholesome cool nights.
3. In Rufuma and Usagara Hills—Very cold and hot, 50° and 60° at
night, and dew, 90° and 100° in day. Rain and drizzle. Cold high E.
winds. Healthy, because high.
DATE, JULY AND AUGUST, 1857.
1 Barometer at 10 a.m., 29.320; at 4 p.m., 29.028. Temperature of
air at 10 a.m., 73°/75°; at 4 p.m., 79°/76°. Direction of wind at
sunrise, S.W.; at 10 a.m., S.W.; at 4 p.m., S.W.—REMARKS. High
wind, S.W. Drops of rain. Clear and sunshine at times.[82]
2 Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 76°/73°, at 4 p.m., 76°/74°.
Direction of wind at sunrise, S.W.; at 10 a.m., S.W.—Rem. Clouds
higher. Drops of rain. A rather clear night.
3 Temperature of air at 10 am., 74°/71°; at 4 p.m., 79°/76°.
Direction of wind at sunrise, S.W.; at 10 a.m., S.W.; at 4 p.m.,
S.W.—Rem. Fine morning. Heavy nimbus from S. Day clear. Hot sun.
Torrents of rain at night.
4 Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 74°/72°; at 4 p.m., 76°/74°.
Direction of wind at sunrise, S.E.; at 10 a.m., S.E.; at 4 p.m.,
S.E.—Rem. Hot sun. Nimbus from E. Rain from E. and S.E., at 3 p.m.
5 Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 73°/70°; at 4 p.m., 78°/75°.
Direction of wind at sunrise, E.; at 10 a.m., E.; at 4 p.m.,
E.—Rem. Dewy morn. Hot sun. Nimbus from S.E. Rain at 2 p.m. Finer
day.
6 Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 75°/72°; at 4 p.m., 81°/71°.
Direction of wind at sunrise, S.E.; at 10 a.m., S.E.; at 4 p.m.,
S.E.—Rem. Dawn, rain. Fine day. Cumuli on horizon. At 2 p.m.
tourbillon and dust. No rain. High wind all night.
7 March. Very fine morn. Hot sun. Cloud at 10 a.m. Cold wind near
river. Then hot sun. In mountains heavy nimbus at 4 p.m. from S.W.
Cleared off. Tourbillon at night about 12 p.m. Cloudless night.
8 Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 80°/78°; at 4 p.m., 85°/81°.
Direction of wind at sunrise, E.; at 10 a.m., S.E. Cloudless morn.
Clouds about 10 a.m. from E. Fine hot day. Dew very heavy. 59° in
morn.
9 March. Direction of wind at sunrise, E.; at 10 a.m., E. Gloomy
morn. Clouds at 1 p.m. Fine and clear even. At dawn, therm. 54°.
Copious dew. Healthy, cold.
10 Intent. (Chya K’henge.) Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 76°/75°;
at 4 p.m., 82°/79°. Direction of wind at sunrise, W. and by N.; at
10 a.m., W.; at 4 p.m., W. Cirrus in morn. All over heavy nimbi
from W. at 12, and at 3 p.m. Perfectly clear night. Stars burning
brighter every day.—From 8 to 10 in tent Mzizi Mdogo. (No rain in
these hills. Cold, fine, and healthy.) Rufuta. Mfuru-ni. Muhama R.
11 March. Clear hot morn. Fleecy clouds at 10 a.m. Heavy nimbi from
W. Therm. in shade of tree at 10 a.m.; 87° at 3 p.m.?; at 5 p.m.
sky covered. Clear night. Dew, clouds on hill-tops. Cold wind from
N. at 10 p.m.
12 March. Clear hot morn. Heat clouds at 7.30 a.m. Wind N. Day,
cloudy (cumuli high) with flashes of sun. Night clouded with thin
clouds.
13 March. Wet fog on hill-tops. Therm. 74°. Did not clear till 10
a.m. Fiery hot day. Fine cool night. Heavy dew.
14 March. Cloudy morn. Then heavy nimbi from hill-tops, S.E.
Spitting of rain from hills. At 9 a.m. clear. Hot at noon. Fiery
sun and clouds.
15 Halt. Sunny day. Few heat-clouds. Hills clear. Cold night.
Climate warmer than before.
16 Ditto in all points.
17 March. (Muhama.) Cool morn. Very hot day. At night rain-drops.
18 Halt. Furious hill-wind from S. and S.W. Clouds, and pleasant
day. Cold dewy night. No rain. Land dried up.
19 Halt. Fine day. S. wind in gusts and raffales. Clouds as usual
when sun strong. Cool dewy night.
20 Ditto. Climate sensibly warmer.
21 March. (Makata.) Cloudy morn at 10 a.m. Cumuli and sun mitigated
by high S.W. wind. Night alternately cloudy and clear. Climate
warm.
22 March. (M’yombo.) Dewy morn. Fiery sun. High S. wind. In
afternoon heavy nimbi from S. Cold dewy night.
23 March. (Mbami.) Fine cool morn. Heavy dew clouds. Very close at 8
a.m. Pleasant S.W. wind at 9. Gentle wind under hills. Cool clear
night.
24 March. (Kadétamare.) Cloudy dawn. Hot sun. Fiery afternoon. Few
high cirri. Cool evening. Very cold night. Therm. 58° and 60°. Dew
heavy.
25 March. (Muinyi.) Cold, clear, dewy morn. Then fiery sun and a few
cirri. S. winds. Cool pleasant night.
26 Halt. Morn cloudy. Heavy nimbi. Violent S. wind. Night cool and
pleasant. Hill-tops. Misty morn. and even.
27 March. (Nidabi.) Cloudy morn. Then small rain from hills. Cold
raw wind from S.E. Furious heat at morn. Few cirri. Hot till 12,
then cool. Pleasant night.
30 Barometer at 10 a.m., 28.400; at 4 p.m., 28.331. Temperature of
air at 10 a.m., 74°/71°; at 4 p.m., 75°/73°. Direction of wind at
sunrise, S.W.; at 10 a.m., S.W.—Rem. Moderate rain in morning.
Very heavy at 12. Fearful burst at 3 p.m.
31 Barometer at 10 a.m., 28.468; at 4 p.m., 28.340. Temperature of
air at 10 a.m., 74°/72°; at 4 p.m., 76°/74°. Direction of wind at
sunrise, S.W.; at 10 a.m., S.W.—Rem. Bad rain all night.
AUGUST 28. Halt. Fine morn. At 10 a.m., cloud on hills. Spitting of
rain. At noon, cloudy. At 4 p.m., hot sun. Cool night after 10 or
11 p.m., before hot.
29 March. (Rumuma.) Fine morn. Dew clouds in E., on hills obscuring
sun. On hill-top, Sarsar wind. Then clear sky and fiery sun. Wind,
S. At night in tent therm. 56°.
30 Halt. Morn, clear and little dew. Day sunny and cloudy; climate
of Italy. Therm. at 2 p.m. in tent, 95° (40° variation in day).
Nights cool and pleasant.
31 Halt. Cool morn. Clear day. Fiery sunset. Morn, hazy. Cool and
pleasant night.
ALT. OBSERVATIONS ON GOMA HILLS.
Rufuta River (5.45 p.m.) 28.932. Alt. 77°, Det. 75°. Then cloudy
evening.
Half up Pass (6.15 a.m.) 28.700. Alt. 77°, Det. 72°. Misty morn.
Fog.
On Goma (8.30 a.m.) 27.994. Alt. 78°, Det. 75°. Clearer, sun and
clouds.
On summit (9.30 a.m.) 27.400. Alt. 82°, Det. 84°. Clear and fine.
Mfuruny (5.15 p.m.) 27.388. Alt. 80°, Det. 74°. Fine clear evening.
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT INENGE AND UGOGI DURING THE MONTH OF SEPTEMBER,
1857.
--------------
DAY
1 Heavy rain in morn at dawn. Then clear and cloudy. At 10 a.m. sky
all clouded. Long shower of small drops. (Halt. Rumuma.) In night
spitting of rain. Close night. Wind E.
2 March. (Marenga.) Drizzle for 1 hour. Nimbi in morn from E. Then
cold wind and clouds. At Marenga furious E. wind. Cumuli high. Sun
moderate. At sunset, wind sank. Came up with moon, furious at
night. Sky clear, but table-cloths on hills.
3 March. (Jungle.) Clear morn. Wind fell with dawn. Gusts at 7 a.m.
Very hot sun. Asses rushing under the shade. Fine, clear, cold
night; all wet with dew. A few clouds (mists) and gusts.
4 March. (Inenge.) Fine cool morn. Very hot, and few clouds till 9.
Then pleasant breeze. Clouds at 10, but not sun. Clear and burning
at 4. Night at first warm, then cold.
5 Halt. Barometer at 10 a.m., 26.432; at 4 p.m., 26.412. Temperature
of air at 10 a.m., 77°/76°; at 4 p.m., 77°/75°. Cool morn. Clouds
from hills till about 4 p.m. Sun then burning. Misty, dewy night.
Wind E. and dusty.
6 Halt. Barometer at 10 a.m., 26.688; at 4 p.m., 26.616. Temperature
of air at 10 a.m., 87°/73°; at 4 p.m., 79°/76°. Hot morn, sun.
Wind from N. and E. Very hot at 4 p.m. Exceedingly cold and clear
night. Wind at sunset raw and dangerous.
7 Halt. Barometer at 10 a.m., 26.458; at 4 p.m., 26.450. Temperature
of air at 10 a.m., 75°/75°; at 4 p.m., 75°/73°. Hot morn. Wind
very variable. Feels killingly cold. Yet therm. high. At 4 begins
to be feverish.
8 Halt. Barometer at 10 a.m., 26.480; at 4 p.m., 26.400. Temperature
of air at 10 a.m., 82°/78°; at 4 p.m., 76°/78°. Fine cool morn.
Terrible sun afterward from 10 to 2. Wind very variable. Fine
night.
9 Halt. Barometer at 10 a.m., 26.418; at 4 p.m., 26.392. Temperature
of air at 10 a.m., 80°/78°; at 4 p.m., 79°/76°. Cool day. Cloudy
and windy. Fine night as usual, very damp. Wind E. and N.—5 to 9.
Pitched in hollow at foot of Pass.
10 March. Cold morn. Then great heat. Ascending Inenge mount. Fine
cool wind. Cold night. Sun very hot at 4 p.m. Wind E. and N.
11 Halt. Rubeho. Cold heavy fog in morn. Barometer at 10 a.m.,
25.100; at 4 p.m., 25.070. Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 78°/79°;
at 4 p.m., 76°/73°. Hot sun. At 10, fleecy, cloudy. Fierce heat at
12. Cool night, foggy, and no wind.
12 March 2nd. Rubeho. Heavy fog. Cleared at 9. At night, 64° in
tent. Barometer at 4 p.m., 24.468. Temperature of air at 4 p.m.,
73°/75°. Very high wind at 10; lasted all day; fell with the sun;
rose again, and lasted all night. Rarefied and very cold.
13 Halt. Rubeho. Foggy morn. Barometer at 10 a.m., 24.462; at 4
p.m., 24.438. Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 71°/71°; at 4 p.m.,
70°/70°. Like rain. Cold day, but sun hot. Fog heavy. E. wind. Sun
fierce. Wind and cold. Little dew in all these places. All fog.
Dates, 12, 13 (Sept.) above Pass.
14 March. Exceedingly foggy morn. Sun bright and hot about noon.
Barometer about 4 p.m., 24.644. Temperature of air at 4 p.m.,
70°/72°. Therm. in tent at dawn, 50°. High E. wind. At night, raw,
windy, and foggy.
15 March. Jungle. Fog in morn. Bright hot sun. Few clouds after 1
p.m. High E. wind. Terrible night. Pitched on hill-side, with a
draft to the hot plains below. Dates, 14, 15 (Sept.). Descent.
16 Halt. Little Rubeho. Fog, mist (almost rain), and wild wind in
morn. High E. wind all day. Sun exceedingly hot. Too occupied to
observe.
17 March. (Jungle.) Fog, mist, and wind from E. Very hot in day. Sun
furious, and sky cloudless. Fine clear night. No dew whatever.
18 March. (Ugogi.) Cool morn. Hot sun. No clouds. Pitched in gully,
where wind comes from every quarter. Mild night.
19 Halt. Day exactly as yesterday. Barometer at 10 a.m., 27.364; at
4 p.m., 27.310. Temperature at 10 a.m., 84°/82°; at 4 p.m.,
83°/85°. Sun sets in these hills at 4.45 p.m. Warm night.
20 Halt. Clear morn. Barometer at 10 a.m., 27.270; at 4 p.m.,
27.248. Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 82°/79°; at 4 p.m.,
85°/82°. Clouds. Cloudy in afternoon. Fine, clear, warm night.
Great sameness of climate.
21 Halt. Cloudy morn. Barometer at 10 a.m., 27.236; at 4 p.m.,
27.290. Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 76°/74°; at 4 p.m.,
78°/77°. Little wind. Drops of heat-rain at noon. Cloudy night.
Warm in tent.
22 Tirikeza. Clear day in morn. Barometer at 10 a.m., 27.240.
Temperature at 10 a.m., 76°/78°. Clouds at 10 till sunset. Then
all clear except mist-bank in W. Fine cool night. Cooler than
under hills. Wind E.
23 March. (Marenga M’Khali.) Clear morn. Wind E. at 9 and 10. Clouds
thin before noon; then pleasant. Cool night. In tent at dawn.
Therm., 51°.
24 Tirikeza. Perfectly clear dawn. Wind E. A few clouds at 1, which
increased till sunset. Cool wind (E.) at 4 p.m. Fine dewless
night.
25 Tirikeza. Clear dawn. Day cloudy. Wind E. In intervals hot sun.
Fine sunset. Cold night. Wind blowing, and dew considerable.
26 March. (Ziwa.) Clear dawn. Barometer at 10 a.m., 26.915; at 4
p.m., 26.900. Temperature of air at 10 a.m., 85°/84°; at 4 p.m.,
86°/87°. Cold morn. Fearful heat in tent (93°) about 2 to 4. Cold
blowy night. Dew heavy.
27 Halt. Clear dawn. Thinnest veil on horizon. Temperature of air at
10 a.m., 87°; at 4 p.m., 90°. Fearfully hot day. No shadow of
cloud. High wind. Tent blown down. Cold evening; then hot; then
cold towards morn. Wind E. Dew.
28 Halt. Clear dawn. Then sunrise, 54°. At 3 p.m., 95°. No mist on
cloud. Gusts from E. and N.E. Warm night. Cool towards dawn.
29 Halt. Clear dawn. Very hot. Cloudless. Wind E., and about 4 p.m.
veered round to N.E. Warm night. Windy night as usual. Cold dawn.
Heavy dew.
30 Ditto in all points.
REMARKS.—From Rumuma to Ugogo Plains. Air rarified. Extremes of heat
and cold. Clouds on hills and occasional showers. Very hot sun.
Breeze at 9 or 10. Gusts at night. Furious E. wind. Sometimes no
dew; sometimes dew like rain. Draft in descent to heated plains.
Ugogi, a new climate. Somaliland near Harar, or Upper Sind. Hot and
dry, dewless: wind and dust. Sky intensely blue; stars like young
moons. Very healthy. Ugogo similar. Great heat and cold. Dew
somewhat copious. No clouds. Furious E. wind from the hills.
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT UGOGO, ETC., DURING THE MONTH
OF OCTOBER, 1857.
Therm. tied to hind pole of tent, opposite entrance, 2 feet from
ground.
DAY
1 Thermometer at sunrise, 66°; at noon, 91°; at 4 p.m., 94°; at
sunset, 84°. Direction of wind at sunrise, E. Fine dawn. Fiery
sun, cloudless. Heat gradually increased. Banks of thin clouds
about W. Furious wind at night. Cool dawn.
2 Thermometer at sunrise, 62°; at noon, 91°; at 4 p.m., 91°; at
sunset, 81°. Direction of wind at sunrise, E. Fine dawn. Fiery
sun, cloudless. Heat gradually increased. Clouds thicken. Wind
veers from S.W. to N.W. Blew hard at night.
3 Thermometer at sunrise, 63°; at noon, 90°. Direction of wind at
sunrise, E. and N.E. Windy morn.
4 Thermometer at sunrise, 66°; at noon, 76°; at 4 p.m., 91°; at
sunset, 82°. Direction of wind at sunrise, E. and S.E. Windy morn.
Fiery sun, cloudless. Heat gradually increased. Clouds. Wind
violent, and from every direction; fell at midnight.
5 Thermometer at sunrise. 70°. Direction of the wind at sunrise, E.
and S.E. Windy morn. Heat milder. Clouds. Clouds gathering. Wind
furious till 10 p.m. Close night.
6 Thermometer at sunrise, 70°. Direction of wind, E. and S.E. Sky
all covered. Shower about 8 a.m. Heat less. Clouds.
7 Fine morn. Wind from all round. Great heat. Thermometer at 4 p.m.,
94°. At night, wind till 10; then fell; then rose with moon. Tent
blown down at 3 p.m.
8 Fine clear dawn. No wind. Great heat. Whirlwind bad at night till
about 12 a.m.
9 Thermometer at sunrise, 68°. Clear dawn. No wind. Great heat.
10 March. Fine clear dawn. Hot morn. A few clouds. Breeze as usual
at 10. Very hot afternoon.
11 March. Cool dewy morn. Dark day. No rain. Clear as usual about
the afternoon. Cold wind. Feverish. Warm night.
12 Hot night. Cloudy day. Very close in the afternoon, with gusts of
cold wind.
13 Thermometer 54° in tent at sunrise. Cold morn. Hot wind at 10. A
few heat clouds. Pleasant and cool after midnight.
14 Cold morn. Intensely hot day. 97° at noon. No clouds. A little
wind from S.E. Fine clear evening. Cold gusts. S.E. wind at night.
15 Thermometer 61° in tent at sunrise. High wind outside; fell at
dawn; very cold; rose, as always does, between 8 and 9 a.m.; fell
at sunset (wind S.E.); fine night.—6-15. Winds high; rise from 8
to 10 a.m.; blow all day till sunset, very uncertain, generally E.
and S.E., also N. and W. A simoom on plains. Cold high winds at
night, yet healthy. All our sick recovered.
16 Thermometer at sunrise, 54° in tent, 49° outside; at noon,
101°/96°; at 4 p.m., 93°/93°; at sunset, 80°/81°. Fine dawn. Wind
moderate. Puffs of wind, S.E. Fine night.—Ugogo. Therm. always the
same, observed once.
17 March. Cold dawn. Fine morn. Fiery day. Few wind and heat clouds,
high up, which increased from W. (against wind) about 3 to 4 p.m.
Fine sunset and warm night. Breeze at 10 a.m.
18 Halt. Dawn, fair and cool. Thermometer at noon, 89°/93°; at 4
p.m., 89°/90°. Hot day. No clouds. Fine clear even. At night,
coldish wind from S.E.
19 Thermometer at sunrise, 52°/53°. Cold dawn. Hot cloudless day.
Fiery wind in gusts. Fine clear sunset, 82° out of tent, 81° in
it. Wind E. and S.E. as usual.
20 March. Cold dawn. Hot day. No clouds. Fine cirri, high up. Fine
clear sunset. At night, raw E. wind.
21 March. Cold dawn. Clouds at 9 a.m. Cleared away in evening.
Windless night.—Gunda M.
22 Jiwe la Mkoa. Clouds at 9 a.m. E. wind all night.
23 March. Kirurumo. Hot morning. Cloudy about 10. Yet burning sun.
Fine afternoon. In evening heavy nimbus from W. E. wind. Spitting
rain all night. Very cool and pleasant. Thunder and sheet
lightning.
24 Clouds and cold. 70° at 7 a.m. About 1, sun struggled through.
Mgongo. Thunder at 3 to 4 p.m. Heavy thunder. Rain from 7 to 9
p.m. E. wind, but clouds from W. Clouded again. Air full of damp
cold wind at sunset.
25 Cloudy raw morn. Sun half out at 10 a.m. Raw day. Clear fine
night. Very cold. Wind E., but not high.
26 High cirri in morn. Cold and high wind. Day hot. Fine warm night.
27 Burning day. Cumulus in even. Wind E.
28 Cool morn. High E. wind at 8. Plenty of clouds. Pleasant day.
High wind; rose again after sunset till midnight. At sunset in
shed, 81°.
29 Thermometer at sunrise, 65° in shed. Cool morn, 84° in shed, 94°
in sun. High E. wind at 8 a.m. Hot day. In morn heavy clouds from
W., but high. Night at first warm and cloudy, then cool and clear.
Trees bent by wind. Never saw this before.
30 Clear dawn. Fiery day. Simoom gusts at 11. Cool in house, 81° and
82°. Heavy clouds from N. No wind, but direction S.E. Warm fine
night. High cumuli. Cool fine midnight to dawn.
31 Cloudy dawn. Cool pleasant day. Beautiful evening and warmish
night.
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT UNYANYEMBE, ETC., DURING THE MONTH OF NOVEMBER,
1857.
--------------
DAY
1 Cloudless dawn, windless. Wind and clouds from E. Cumuli in
afternoon. Tolerably clear sunset. Fine moonlight night. Warm and
pleasant.
2 Rubuga. Cloudless dawn, windless. Wind and clouds from E. Cumuli
after noon. At moonrise cloud and mists, 7 p.m. from S. Then cool
E. wind with moon.
3 Cloudless dawn, windless. Very hot day. Cumuli and wind bound
up. Cloudy night, cool and comfortable.
4 Ukona. Cloudless morn till 7; then cleared away. Sun hot, and
cold wind. Cumuli in day, high up. Fine cool even at dawn. Few
clouds, cirri. Wind E. and S.
5 Cloudless morn. High E. and S. wind at 7 a.m.; then fell. Cool
night and clear.
6 Unyanyembe. Cloudless morn. Moderate E. wind at 7 and 8. Cloudy
day. Cumuli nearly over sky. Wind N.E. and E. during forenoon;
veered S. and even W. with sun, and returns E. at night.
7 Too sick to observe.
8 Ditto.
9 Verandah, facing E. Thermometer at sunrise, 72°; at noon, 91°;
at sunset, 87°. Cool cloudless dawn. Cloudy, but very close.
Profuse perspiration. Pleasant cloudless even. High S.E. wind at
night.
10 Verandah, facing E. Thermometer at sunrise, 70°; at sunset,
132°. Cool cloudless dawn. Almost cloudless. In sun at 3 p.m.
Pleasant even. Filmy night. Little wind.
11 Verandah, facing E. Thermometer at sunrise, 71°; at noon, 120°
in sun; at sunset, 81°. Cool cloudless dawn. Exceedingly hot and
close. Pleasant even, but clouds gathering.
12 Thermometer at sunrise, 71°. Cloudy, as if for rain. Warm day.
Fine even, but clouds high up, showing wind. Rain expected.
13 Fine dawn. Clouds during day. Exceedingly hot. Rain wanted and
expected. Moon and stars halved.
14 Thermometer at sunrise, 79° in tent; at noon, 83° in tent; at
sunset, 85° in tent. Fine dawn. Fiery day. Signs of rain.
Lightning from Azyab, N.E., disappears.
15 Thermometer at sunrise, 78°; at noon, 92°; 89° in even.
Verandah, facing E. Very hot cloudy day. Rain at 3 p.m.; and at
night; very little fell.
16 Thermometer at sunrise, 72°; at noon, 92°; at sunset, 91°.
Verandah, facing E. Clear dawn. Very hot. People expect rain with
this heat. Very clear night. Wind E.
17 Fine dawn. Thermometer at 10 a.m. 90° in verandah (E.); at 4
p.m., 91°. Climate too uniform for Europeans. Cloudy day. Rained
for about 1 hour at night.
18 Cloudy day. Exceedingly hot. Thunder all afternoon till night.
No Hilal seen yet. Cool, clear, and pleasant night.
19 Bright dawn. (Sick.)
20 Bright dawn. Clouds during day. Rain in afternoon, and high
wind.
21 Clear dawn.
22 Thunder and rain at 3 p.m.
23 Thunder all afternoon. Rain at 3 p.m.
24 Rain at 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. Wind from W., cold, raw, and damp.
The storms from Azyab, N.E. Cloudy all day. Rain, thunder, and
lightning all night.
25 Cloudy dawn and forenoon. Storm at night, 7 to 9.
26 Cloudy. Thunder and storm at 4 p.m. Violent rain and storm,
distant about 3 miles, at night. No wind.
27 Cloudy day and dawn. All looks like rain. Grumbling of low
thunder all day.
28 Very cloudy dawn. Cleared at 8.
29 Violent rain at night. Surly weather. Signs of rain, flying
ants.
30 Thermometer at sunrise, 80° in verandah. Clear cool day, a few
clouds. Rain in evening.
31 Too sick to observe.
REMARKS.—Air of Unyanyembe intensely dry; sometimes does not rain
for months. Soil fertile by proximity of water; rains every 15 or 16
days. Lightning from S.E. We had very steady rain. Thunder and
lightning like chota barsát in Upper India. About the 30th inst.
country well sopped. All began to plant; rice about end of month,
and Jawari after.
Rain, as at Zanzibar, every day. Generally deep cloudy morns. Cold
wind, and very damp. Therm. 70°. Sun at 10 a.m., hot. Clouds
partially dispersed. About 2 p.m. showers, with thunder and
lightning, increase till dark, when become very violent. Bolts fell
one night. Climate unwholesome as the Kinga-ni river. Almost all our
men had fever. Wind generally E., but changing to S.W.
This rain in Dec. is called Muaka, or the year. We experienced it on
the coast, in the Elphinstone, and the Riami. All are cultivating.
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT UNYAMWEZI LAND, KAZEH, AND ZIMBILI, DURING THE
MONTH OF DECEMBER, 1857.
--------------
DAY
1 to 15 Uyanyembe and Kapunde. Too sick to observe. Climate
precisely the same.
16 Thermometer at sunrise, 70° in tent. Rain at 2 p.m. Thunder and
lightning. Night cool and cloudy. Day cold. Want very warm
clothing. Wind raw.
17 Thermometer at sunrise, 70°. Cloudy morn.
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT UJIJI, ON THE LAKE TANGANIKA, DURING THE MONTH
OF APRIL, 1858.
--------------
DAY
1 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 71°; at 12, 75°; at 6 p.m., 76°. Means of
‘Cox’ and pocket therm.
2 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 71°; at 12, 73°; at 6 p.m., 73°.
3 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 68°; at 12, 76°; at 6 p.m., 75°. Cool day.
Heavy clouds. No rain.
4 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 69°; at 12, 79°; at 6 p.m., 77°. Fine clear
day. No rain.
5 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 69°; at 12, 78°; at 6 p.m., 77°. Fine day,
showing that monsoon is drawing to close.
6 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 69°; at 12, 80°; at 6 p.m., 76°. Fine day.
7 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 70°; at 12, 80°; at 6 p.m., 76°. Fine day.
8 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 68°; at 12, 78°; at 6 p.m., 76°. Weather
exceedingly damp. No rain.
9 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 70°; at 12, 76°; at 6 p.m., 76°. Started
for Uvira. Twice rain in night.
10 Thunder, lightning, and rain, all day. Very damp and cold on
Lake.
11 Violent rains and E. wind all night; tent blown down. Raw cold.
12 Heavy rain in midday and hot sun. Damp excessive.
13 On Lake.
14 Ditto.
15 Sun very hot. Morn and even clouded with nimbus.
16 Cold, not of low temperature, but humid atmosphere. Fiery sun and
rain during day.
17 Alternate bursts of burning sun and cold. Rain all day.
18 Purple clouds from N., sign of heavy rain, showers occasional.
19 On sea, smooth at first. Fine sky. About 9 a.m. wind sprang up.
Hot sun. Heavy dew.
20 Fine, hot, rainless day.
21 Fine, hot, rainless day. Even perfectly clear.
22 Cold, raw, and uncomfortable.
23 Fine day and night. S.E. wind at 7 p.m. Heavy nimbi after
midnight. Rain at sunrise.
24 Fine day.
25 Fine day. S.E. wind, raw at night.
26 Clear day. W. wind, high. Waves foaming. Heavy dew. No clouds.
27 Clear and windy. Driven off sands by sea rising.
28 Fine day. Occasionally cloudy. No rain.
29 Fine day. Occasionally cloudy. No rain.
30 Fine day. Occasionally cloudy. No rain.
31 Violent rains in night and all morning.
REMARKS.—Rains at Kazeh, began on 14th November.
At Ujiji about 2 months earlier. At Msene 1 month earlier.
Not heavy at first; no burst of monsoon, as in India, but invariably
accompanied by violent thunder and lightning.
The sun of the rains is considered very sickly; it burns with a
violent and nauseating heat, truly uncomfortable.
The wind during this month, N. after midnight till sunrise, when it
becomes raw and cold. During the day warmer, and veered round to
S.E. This was constant point. In evenings, and often at nights, it
became a complete blast.
Direction of rain in Ujiji, generally either from N., from S.E., and
from S.W. But it was, as everywhere, very variable. The S.E. and E.
wind seems to prevail everywhere, from Ugogo to the Lake.
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT UNYANYEMBE, LAT. S. 5° 4′ 12″, ALT. 3436 ABOVE
S. L., DURING THE MONTH OF JUNE, 1858.
‘Cox’ hung in verandah. See Sept. (same place).
--------------
DAY
1 Rusigi River. Cold and very dewy morn. Hot sun. Few cumuli and
cirri.
2 Hot day. Clouds at noon. Fine, clear, and cold night.
3 Cold morn. Hot sunny day.
4 Slight shock of earthquake at 11.15 a.m. Fine hot day.
5 Fine, hot, and breezy morn. Wind, as usual, E.
6 Fine, hot, and breezy morn.
7 Muggy and cloudy night. Hot sun till clouded at noon. Air still.
Splendid night.
8 Cool morn. Usual raw wind. Splendid night.
9 Cool morn. Raw high wind at noon. Fleecy clouds.
10 Splendid night. Cool morn. Raw high wind at noon. Fleecy
clouds.
11 Cold wind and burning sun all day.
12 Cold wind and burning sun all day.
13 Slight shocks of earthquakes at repeated intervals.
14 Misty morn. Hot clear day. Cloudy even.
15 Misty morn. Hot clear day. Cloudy even.
16 Cold morn. Stinging sun.
17 Cold morn. Stinging sun.
18 Cold morn. Stinging sun. Raw wind at 10 a.m. Light breezes
during day.
19 Kazeh. Cold morning. Stinging sun.
20 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 67°; at 12, 83°; at 6 p.m., 80°. Nothing
remarkable, but cold E. wind.
21 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 66°; at 12, 83°; at 6 p.m., 78°. Same
remark.
22 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 63°; at 12, 83°; at 6 p.m., 78°.
23 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 64°; at 12, 80°; at 6 p.m., 78°. Weather
the same. Air exceedingly dry. At dawn a cold W. breeze that
chills the blood. About 10 a.m. changes E.
24 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 66°; at 12, 86°; at 6 p.m., 80°. Raw and
violent E. wind, which causes abundant sickness. Day clear till 1
p.m., then cloudy.
25 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 67°; at 12, 87°; at 6 p.m., 82°. Clouds
from E.; sometimes clear away at sunset; sometimes last all night.
Invariable cloud-bank of purple nimbus in W.
26, 27 On both these days tourbillons, or devils, of light dust,
filling houses.
28-31 Too sick to observe.
REMARKS.—Early summer. The earth is dried up with want of moisture;
and in Unyanyembe the dews, except during the rains, are light.
The weather is monotonous. The morn cold, raw, and bright. The sun
begins to tell at about 9 a.m., and at 10 a.m. rises a high wind
from the N. and E., cooled by evaporation, and pouring from the
hill-lines that flank the plains. It is considered very unwholesome.
Fleecy clouds appear at noon, increase in volume and depth, and
disappear about sunset, which is bright and clear, except when a
thick cloud-bank occupies in straight line the western horizon.
Nights often cool, and sometimes still and ‘muggy.’
The Kaus, or S.W. monsoon, is supposed to blow from April to the end
of November, when it is succeeded for 4 months by the Kazkazi, or
N.E. monsoon. Such are the seasons at Zanzibar. In Unyamwezi,
however, the E. wind seems to last all the year.
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT UNYANYEMBE, MASUI, AND NGEMO, LAT. S., 5° 5′
12″, ALT. 3436 FT. ABOVE S. L., DURING THE MONTH OF SEPT., 1858.
‘Cox’ hung in a passage, and after the 8th in an open verandah
pointing E., and exposed to reflection of sun.
‘Newman’ hung in empty tent from ridge-pole, one fold defended from
air; average of 8 days, observed at 6 a.m., 65°; at 9 a.m., 85°; at
12, 108°; at 3 p.m., 107°; at 6 p.m., 80°; extreme, 50°; from 63° to
113° (highest at noon).
--------------
DAY
1 Kazeh.
2 Thermometer at 9 a.m., 76°; at 12, 85°; at 3 p.m., 85°; at 6 p.m.,
83°.
3 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 73°; at 9 a.m., 76°; at 12, 85°; at 3 p.m.,
88°; at 6 p.m., 83°.
4 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 73°; at 9 a.m., 76°; at 12, 83°; at 3 p.m.,
87°; at 6 p.m., 83°. Wind cold. Several persons taken ill.
5 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 73°; at 9 a.m., 75°; at 12, 83°; at 3 p.m.,
87°; at 6 p.m., 85°.
6 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 71°; at 9 a.m., 75°; at 12, 84°; at 3 p.m.,
85°; at 6 p.m., 84°. Dark, warm, and cloudy. Cold blasts at times.
Rain in distance.
7 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 75°; at 9 a.m., 76°; at 12, 83°; at 3 p.m.,
85°; at 6 p.m., 84°.
8 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 74°; at 9 a.m., 75°; at 12, 83°; at 3 p.m.,
85°. Purple clouds from E., with thunder and lightning. A few
drops on first shower, augurs an early monsoon.
9 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 75°; at 12, 86°; at 6 p.m., 83°. Clouds,
but no rain. Night clear.
10 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 72°; at 12, 88°; at 6 p.m., 83°.
11 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 69°; at 12, 88°; at 6 p.m., 84°. Nights
generally clouded before 12.
12 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 68°; at 12, 90°; at 6 p.m., 84°. Rain.
13 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 72°; at 12, 90°; at 6 p.m., 85°.
14 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 75°; at 12, 90°; at 6 p.m., 79°.
15 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 72°; at 12, 92°. Cloudy night; could not
observe.
16 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 74°; at 12, 89°; at 6 p.m., 85°.
17 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 72°; at 12, 90°; at 6 p.m., 85°. Hot
cloudy day. Cold blasts. Rain somewhere.
18 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 75°; at 12, 90°; at 6 p.m., 79°. Cloudy,
muggy night.
19 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 72°; at 12, 92°; at 6 p.m., 85°. Purple
clouds. Thunder, and a few drops of rain at 10 p.m.
20 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 74°; at 12, 92°; at 6 p.m., 86°. At 9
p.m., thunder, and a few drops of rain. Clouds from W., wind from
E.
21 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 73°; at 12, 89°; at 6 p.m., 85°. Clear hot
day and night.
22 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 73°; at 12, 90°; at 6 p.m., 85°. Normal
day. Remarks. Very bright moon.
23 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 74°; at 12, 92°; at 6 p.m., 88°. Wind
always E.
24 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 75°; at 12, 90°; at 6 p.m., 86°. Sun
fiery.
25 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 70°; at 12, 88°; at 6 p.m., 84°.
26 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 71°. (Last at Unyanyembe.) Marched this
day.—26 to 28 at Masui.
27 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 70°; at 12, 82°; at 6 p.m., 71°. Therm.
hung in hut to pole alt. Violent cold wind all evening.
28 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 70°; at 12, 80°; at 6 p.m., 82°. 5 ft.
fronting S. No refracted heat. At Ngemo.
29 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 72°; at 12, 80°; at 6 p.m., 82°. In hut,
on wall, fronting S.E. alt.
30 Thermometer at 6 a.m., 72°; at 12, 80°; at 6 p.m., 83°. 5 ft., no
refraction.—29, 30, at Ngemo.
REMARKS.—Midsummer. Despite the drought, beasts and birds begin to
couple, and trees to put forth leaves.
The E. wind becomes milder, the weather better, especially at night,
and the whirlwinds diminish. The change of seasons, which brought so
much sickness, passed away in the latter third of July. In Sept.,
Unyamwezi is tolerably healthy.
The normal day, at this season, is a cold high E. wind, rising
shortly after the sun has heated the ground. It pours from the far
Usagara Mountains. The sky is clear and sparkling, with a few high
cirri, and on the horizon white cumuli. Shortly after noon clouds
obscure the sun and confine the wind, which, however, sometimes blow
throughout the evening and the night. The nights are cool about 11
p.m., till which hour the air is still, warm, and genial. It much
resembles the end of an Italian summer day. The winds, however, with
their prodigious loads of dust, if a little less puffy, and more
continuous, would rival the gales of Sind.
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT MGUNDA, MKHALI, AND UGOGO, DURING THE MONTH OF
NOVEMBER, 1858.
--------------
DAY
5 Tura. Temperature of air at sunrise, 66; at midday, 91; at
sunset, 94. N. D. At night, lightning in E. A violent wind-storm
at 9 to 10 p.m.
6 Temperature of air at sunrise, 64; at midday, 82; at sunset, 84.
Cloudy morn.
7 Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at midday, 83; at sunset, 78.
Furious E. wind at 10 a.m. Sun fiery.
8 Kirurumo in Desert. Temperature of air at sunrise, 64; at
midday, 82; at sunset, 80. Furious E. wind at 10 a.m.
9 Temperature of air at sunrise, 62; at midday, 100; at sunset,
83. Furious E. wind at 10 a.m.
10 Temperature of air at sunrise, 63; at midday, 100; at sunset,
76. E. wind early, 9 a.m.
11 Temperature of air at sunrise, 59; at midday, 100; at sunset,
78. E. wind at 8 a.m.
12 Temperature of air at sunrise, 58; at midday, 99; at sunset,
79. Warm night. Tourbillon at 9 p.m.
13 Temperature of air at sunrise, 66; at midday, 90; at sunset,
86. Hot day. Rain appears gathering.
14 W. Frontier of Ugogo. Temperature of air at sunrise, 64; at
midday, 100; at sunset, 81. Hot and clear.
15 Temperature of air at sunrise, 65; at midday, 89; at sunset,
82. Wind N.E., high and cool. People sowing in readiness for first
rains.
16 Khoko. Temperature of air at sunrise, 66; at midday, 92; at
sunset, 84. Showers from E. at 5 p.m., large heavy drops and
spitting. Night windy.
17 Temperature of air at sunrise, 66; at midday, 90; at sunset,
72. Clouds from noon to 5 p.m. Cool windy night.
18 Temperature of air at sunrise, 63; at midday, 96; at sunset,
80.
19 Usekhe. Temperature of air at sunrise, 64; at midday, 87; at
sunset, 84.
20 Temperature of air at sunrise, 66; at midday, 84; at sunset,
86.
21 Temperature of air at sunrise, 67; at midday, 84; at sunset,
84.
22 Kanyenye. Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at midday, 96; at
sunset, 82. Violent tourbillon and dust after sunset.
23 Temperature of air at sunrise, 68; at midday, 97; at sunset,
83. High wind in morn.
24 Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at midday, 94; at sunset,
84. High wind all night.
25 Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at midday, 92; at sunset,
88.
26 Temperature of air at sunrise, 68; at midday, 96; at sunset,
84. Calm day, windy night.
27 Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at midday, 100; at sunset,
83. Calm hot morn and afternoon; cold and windy even.
28 Temperature of air at sunrise, 63; at midday, 100; at sunset,
85. Spitting of rain during the night.
29 Temperature of air at sunrise, 73; at midday, 96; at sunset,
80. Spitting of rain in morn. Cloudy day. Hot afternoon. High
gusts at night.
30 Kifukuro. Temperature of air at sunrise, 68; at midday, 100; at
sunset, 83. Cool cloudy day. Heavy nimbi from E. at night. Rain
predicted.—14 to 30 Ugogo.
REMARKS.—Therm. hung to fore-pole of ridge tent, mercury height of
man’s eye. Tent always facing N.
Morning fine, cool, clear, and still.
Clouds, chiefly cumulus. E. wind sets in between 10 to 11, with
clouds. Noon, fleecy clouds, cirri, and cumuli, sun obscured, cool
air, and high cold E. wind. Sun fiery between clouds, which, when
thick, arrest wind. Evening clear, cool, and pleasant. Wind
sometimes veers to W. Hottest part of day, because wind arrested
between noon and 3 p.m. often a veil of mist-cloud. Night still and
cloudy, with raffales of cold high E. wind. Nimbus and cumulus. Air
often mild and genial. Night, wind sometimes mild, and W. but
rarely. Often a film of mist, and the moon and stars in haloes.
In Ugogo the E. wind is sensibly warmer than Umyanwezi, and presents
less contrast with the surrounding atmosphere. Tourbillons are
frequent and violent. The average heat at 9 a.m. was 97°; at 3 p.m.,
100°.
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT MARENGA MK’HALI, UHEHE, WESTERN USAGARA, AND
UZIRAHA IN KHUTU, DURING THE MONTH OF DECEMBER, 1858.
--------------
DAY
1 Ziwa. Temperature of air at sunrise, 68; at 4 p.m., 100; at
sunset, 80. Cool, cloudy morn. Hot, close, glaring day. Cool
evening.
2 Marenga Mk’hali. Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at 4 p.m.,
101; at sunset, 82. Air cooled by distant rain. Fiery bursts of
sun. Heavy clouds at night. Lightning from N. and E.
3 Marenga Mk’hali. Temperature of air at sunrise, 69; at 4 p.m.,
101; at sunset, 80. Cloudy morn till 8. Clouds at noon. Heavy
shower with thunder and lightning from E. at 1 p.m.
4 Marenga Mk’hali. Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at 4 p.m.,
101; at sunset, 82. Clouds at 10 a.m. Clear day. Hot sun. Cool
night.
5 Marenga Mk’hali. Temperature of air at sunrise, 68; at 4 p.m.,
97; at sunset, 84. Cloudy morn. Gusty day. Cold night. Draughts of
air from Dungomaro ravine in Ugogi all night from midnight.
6 Ugogi. Temperature of air at sunrise, 66; at 4 p.m., 90; at
sunset, 80. Warm morn and even. Cool wind at 9 p.m. Heavy showers
and gusts at night. Masika, or rainy monsoon, according to some,
begins.
7 Ugogi. Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at 4 p.m., 82. Still,
cool morn. Clouds and wind from E. Storm of rain and thunder at
night.
8 Enter Uhehe and Usagara. Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at 4
p.m., 90; at sunset, 80. Hot morn. Clouds at 9 a.m. Stormy night.
9 Temperature of air at sunrise, 73; at 4 p.m., 92; at sunset, 82.
Hot morn in hills. Wind E. Rainy, clammy night.
10 Temperature of air at sunrise, 75; at 4 p.m., 90; at sunset,
84. Air close, damp, and stormy.
11 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 94; at sunset,
84. Cool at dawn. Hot, clear day. Wind E. and N.E. Halo round
moon.
12 Temperature of air at sunrise, 73; at 4 p.m., 93; at sunset,
82. Hot, clear morn. Sky cleared by rain. At 2 p.m., clouds. At
midnight, haze and halo. Wind E. and high.
13 Inena. Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 84; at
sunset, 72. Hazy, muggy morn. Clouds, but no wind. At 4 to 6 p.m.,
heavy rain from a gap in southern hills.
14 Temperature of air at sunrise, 67; at 4 p.m., 100; at sunset,
74. Nimbus cumulus and heavy sky. Spitting at noon. Still even.
Spitting at 7 p.m., and at 3 a.m., heavy rain.
15 Maroro. Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at 4 p.m., 96; at
sunset, 78. Muggy morn. Hot sun through nimbus and cumulus.
Thunder at midday. Spitting at sunset.
16 Maroro. Temperature of air at sunrise, 67; at 4 p.m., 94; at
sunset, 80. Cloudy morn. Windy day. Cool even. Wind, rain, and
dust at sunset. Hot night. Starry, and very heavy dew.
17 Temperature of air at sunrise, 69; at 4 p.m., 100; at sunset,
82. Cool morn. East wind at 8 a.m. No rain. Clouds high. Cirri and
cumuli. Dew very heavy.
18 Kiparepeta. Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at 4 p.m. 83; at
sunset, 78. Dew clouds tabling E. hills. Sky elsewhere clear.
Breeze at 8 a.m., when sun dispersed all clouds, stratus, &c.
19 Kisanga. Temperature of air at sunrise, 68; at 4 p.m., 88; at
sunset, 78. Stratus on E. hills. Cold E. wind. Hot sun at noon.
Fine, clear even. Clouds, and heavy shower at night.
20 Kisanga. Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at 4 p.m., 89; at
sunset, 80. Dew clouds in morn. Clear, hot day. Pleasant E. wind.
Cloudy even.
21 Kisanga. Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at 4 p.m., 90; at
sunset, 80. Dew clouds in morn. Clear, hot day. Fine night.
22 Ruhembe. Temperature of air at sunrise, 71; at 4 p.m., 92; at
sunset, 82. Clouds spitting at 7 to 8 a.m. Clear, hot day. Cool
night.
23 Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at 4 p.m., 93; at sunset,
78. Dewy morn. Day clear, and cloudy after 10 a.m. Dewy even.
Clouds at midnight.
24 Kikobogo. Temperature of air at sunrise, 73; at 4 p.m., 94; at
sunset, 80. Dewy morn. No breeze. Mist from marshes.
25 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 98; at sunset,
82. Dewy morn. No breeze. Thunder and rain at night. Rain heavy
drops.
26 Temperature of air at sunrise, 76; at 4 p.m., 97; at sunset,
88. Dewy morn. Clouds at 10 a.m. Thunder and heavy rain at noon.
Night hot, then after spitting rain, cool.
27 Temperature of air at sunrise, 71; at 4 p.m., 97; at sunset,
82. Cool, misty morn. Hot sun. Dewy, misty night.
28 Kirengwe (Khutu). Temperature of air at sunrise, 76; at 4 p.m.,
84; at sunset, 80. Sun mist-veiled at 10 a.m. Wild weather, and
heavy rain in day. Land stinks.
29 Zungomero. Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at 4 p.m., 84; at
sunset, 80. Cloudy morn. Wind E. Heavy rain. Cloudy even. Heavy
rain like that of India at night.
30 Zungomero. Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at 4 p.m., 74; at
sunset, 72. Drizzle till noon. All damp, soppy, and steaming.
31 Zungomero. Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at 4 p.m., 74; at
sunset, 86. Cloudy. Nimbi and cumuli. No rain.
REMARKS.—Thermometer suspended in tent, fronting north, as before.
Weather very variable. In Ugogi and Eastern Usagara the Rainy
Monsoon appears to have set in on the 6th Dec., 1858.
Until Maroro, the climate had the aspect of the rainy seasons. After
that meridian, throughout Eastern Usagara the weather held up; but
these masses of hills seem rarely, if ever, to be without rain. The
dews are remarkably heavy, forming a contrast with Unyamwezi and the
inland regions.
At Zungomero, reached about the end of December, the violent showers
which fell like buckets-full, piercing at once the thickest
thatches, were called by the people the ‘Sowing Rains.’ All were
busy in the fields, and labour was protracted till about the first
week in December.
The sea-breeze extends to Zungomero, setting in at 9 to 10 a.m. In
foul weather sea-gulls are blown up from the coast. The vicinity of
the Duthumi hills to the N. E., which are rarely, if ever, seen in a
clear outline, and the mountains of Usagara westward, render this a
region of almost perpetual rain. Its summer lasts about one
fortnight, beginning in early January, at which time no rain falls.
OBSERVATIONS MADE IN KHUTU AND UZARAMO, DURING THE MONTHS OF JANUARY
AND FEBRUARY, 1859.
--------------
DAY
1 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 95; at sunset, 80.
Wet, muggy morn. Wind E. Shower at 5 p.m. Cloudy even.
2 Temperature of air at sunrise, 73; at 4 p.m., 98; at sunset, 80.
Fine morn. Wind E. Cirro-cumulus. Few high clouds. Fine even and
clear night.
3 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 104; at sunset, 80.
Fine morn. Sea-breeze and clouds at 10 a.m. Violent rain from E.
at 9 p.m.
4 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 109; at sunset, 84.
Stratus on earth. Sea-breeze and sun at 10 a.m., and at sunset.
5 Temperature of air at sunrise, 75; at 4 p.m., 100; at sunset, 82.
Fine morn. Clouds and breeze at 10 a.m., and at sunset.
6 Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at 4 p.m., 110; at sunset, 83.
Cloudy, dull, muggy morn. Fierce sun. Heavy rain at night.
7 Temperature of air at sunrise, 73; at 4 p.m., 102; at sunset, 82.
Cloudy, dull, muggy morn. Fierce sun. Fine even.
8 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 100; at sunset, 70.
Clear, fine morn. Fierce sun. Fine even.
9 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 100; at sunset, 80.
Dirty morn. Spitting of rain. Hot sun. Showery even.
10 Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at 4 p.m., 98; at sunset, 80.
Dull morn. Hot day. Sea-breeze. Fine even.
11 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 101; at sunset, 82.
Muggy morn. Sunny and cloudy day. Fine even.
12 Temperature of air at sunrise, 75; at 4 p.m., 97; at sunset, 80.
Fine, clear morn. Cirri and high clouds. Fine even.
13 Temperature of air at sunrise, 75; at 4 p.m., 99; at sunset, 80.
Day hot and clear. Night cloudy.
14 Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at 4 p.m., 90; at sunset, 80.
Day hot and clear. Night cloudy.
15 Temperature of air at sunrise, 71; at 4 p.m., 88; at sunset, 80.
Day hot and clear. Halo at night.
16 Temperature of air at sunrise, 71; at 4 p.m., 110; at sunset, 86.
Air misty and thick. No clouds.
17 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 107; at sunset, 88.
Air misty and thick. No clouds.
18 Temperature of air at sunrise, 70; at 4 p.m., 104; at sunset, 86.
Air misty, but somewhat clearer.
19 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 108; at sunset, 86.
Heavy clouds. Muggy morn. Fleecy sky at sunset. Halo at night.
20 Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at 4 p.m., 108; at sunset, 84.
Misty, muggy morn. Heavy clouds from N. and N.E. Tourbillon of
wind and dust at 3 p.m. Rain in large drops. Hot even and night.
Lightning from N. and N.E. to S.E.—1 to 20, Zungomero in Khutu at
head of valley.
21 Marching. Temperature of air at sunrise, 71; at 4 p.m., 88; at
sunset, 80. Misty. Sun at 9 a.m. fiery. Steamy day. Fetid air.
Rain near.
22 Marching. Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at 4 p.m., 90; at
sunset, 77. Misty. Sun at 9 a.m. fiery. Storm from S. to N. from 3
p.m. to 8 p.m. Violent rain. Spitting at night. Fetid close air.
23 Marching. Temperature of air at sunrise, 72; at 4 p.m., 90; at
sunset, 80. Grey sky. Sun at 9 a.m. hot. Spitting rain from 10 to
12. Light rain at 3 p.m. No sun.
24 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 100; at sunset, 82.
Grey sky. Water and air in equal parts. Spitting at 9 to 11 a.m.
Sun hot at 12. Blue sky in north. Heavy rain. Slow clouds from N.
at 8 to 10 p.m.
25 Temperature of air at sunrise, 76; at 4 p.m., 100; at sunset, 84.
Fine veil of mist. Wind and clouds from E. Four days’ sea-breeze.
Fine night, but very hot.
26 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 106; at sunset, 80.
Clear, hot day. Wind E. Sea-breeze after 12. Hot night.
27 Temperature of air at sunrise, 76; at 4 p.m., 110; at sunset, 86.
Misty morn. Wind E. at 10 a.m. Storm of wind and thunder (no rain)
from E.
28 Temperature of air at sunrise, 75; at 4 p.m., 110; at sunset, 84.
Misty morn. Day hot and cloudy. Thunder at 4 p.m. Lightning at
night.
29 Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 106; at sunset, 86.
Misty morn. Hot sun. Heavy cumulus and E. wind. Sea-breeze. Hot
even. Still, starry night.
30 Temperature of air at sunrise, 76; at 4 p.m., 100; at sunset, 86.
Clear morn. Hot sun. Clouds at 10 a.m. Fiery sun. Clouds at 3 p.m.
Wind E. Fine even.
31 Temperature of air at sunrise, 75; at 4 p.m., 99. Clear morn.
Clouds and wind from E. Fiery sun. Heavy cumulus. High sea-breeze.
Clouds and spitting at 10 p.m.
FEB. 1. Temperature of air at sunrise, 76; at 4 p.m., 100; at
sunset, 80. Clear morn. Clouds at 9 a.m. Rain at 10 a.m. Fine day.
2 Ruisi. Temperature of air at sunrise, 74; at 4 p.m., 104; at
sunset, 82. Clear morn. Clouds at 7 a.m. Showers at 10 to 11 a.m.
Clouds and mist from E. Fine day. Clear night.
3 Konduchi. Temperature of air at sunrise, 77; at 4 p.m., 99; at
sunset, 80. Clear morn. Sea-breeze. Fine clear day. Heat great out
of sun.
REMARKS.—An anomaly was observed at Zungomero. There appeared to be
a double sea-breeze, the earlier set in between 9 and 10 a.m. every
day. The second rose regularly at sunset, and at times there were
gusts from the eastward at night. This phenomenon appears purely
local, and caused by the cold winds of the Duthumi hills, which,
when the sun disappears, find their way to the still heated head of
the Khutu Valley.
Between Zungomero and the Mgeta Ford the sea-breeze is lost in the
lower levels. After the Mgeta it sets in strong and regular. The
rain also diminishes, though in winter tourbillons are common. When
the E. wind blows cold it is a sign that rain is approaching, like
the puffs preceding storms on the Zanzibar seas.
Rain in showers not common on the land above the ancient sea-beach;
when on the shore there is more. This accounts for superior
fertility.
Wind at Konduchi as on the coast generally. Calm morn till 9 or 10
a.m. Sea-breeze till sunset. Calm again till fetid land-breeze sets
in at night, and endures until morn.
APPENDIX III.
OBSERVATIONS during a Voyage of Research on the East Coast of
Africa, from Cape Guardafui south to the Island of Zanzibar, in
the H. C.’s cruisers Ternate, (Captain T. Smee,) and Sylph
schooner (Lieutenant Hardy). With short notes by Richard F.
Burton.
January 2nd (1811), Wednesday. Sailed from Bombay in company with
our consort, the Sylph schooner, Lieut. Hardy, having under convoy
two merchant vessels bound to Mocha.
3rd, Thursday. Spoke Lieut. Hardy, who informed us his chronometer
had unfortunately stopped: at noon the thermometer in the shade
stood at 79°, lat. obsd. 18° 16′ N., long. 71° 36′ E., wind fresh
from N.N.E. with fair weather.
4th, Friday. We had fine weather with a light northeasterly wind.
Our thermometer, which had been fixed in the companion-hatch of the
gun-room, was yesterday in the evening removed to a more exposed
situation, to the Captain’s cabin on deck. At noon to-day observed
it had fallen to 78°, being one degree lower than yesterday: lat.
17° 48′ N., long. 69° 47′ E.
5th, Saturday. During the preceding night a heavy dew had fallen,
but the air to-day felt pleasantly dry and cool. Thermometer 77½°,
lat. 17° 29′ N., long. 68° 46′ E.
6th, Sunday. We were in lat. 16° N., long. 66° 45′ E., thermometer
stationary at 77½°.
7th, Monday. In lat. 16° 13′ N., long. 64° 29′ E. The thermometer at
76°, light winds from the N.E. with cool weather.
8th, Tuesday. The weather still continued delightful with a pleasant
north-easterly breeze. The thermometer at 75°, lat. to-day at noon
15° 44′ N., long. per chronometer 62° 30′ E.; by a lunar observation
taken at 8 P.M. 61° 53′, variation of the compass per azimuth 52
miles west.
9th, Wednesday. In lat. 15° 32′ N., long. by chronometer 60° 44′ E.;
and by a lunar taken at 8 P.M. 60° 55′. No alteration in the state
of the winds or weather, and the thermometer remained at 75°.
10th, Thursday. In lat. 15° 2′ N., long. per chronometer 58° 54′ E.;
at 8 P.M. by lunar 58° 27′ E.; thermometer 76°.
11th, Friday. Lat. 14° 40′, long. per chronometer 47° 11′ E., and by
lunar at 8 P.M. 56° 20′. The thermometer at 77°.
12th, Saturday. We parted with the convoy, and, changing our course
from W. to S.S.W., we steered toward the Island of Socotra. At noon
observed an immense shoal of porpoises about half a mile astern of
us, passing with great velocity in a direction from the north to the
south-east. In the evening a rank smell of fish spawn was strongly
perceptible. Thermometer at noon 77½°, lat. 14° 35′ N., long. by
chronometer 55° 37′ E. The wind from the east, with fine weather,
and a cloudy sky. About sunset the appearance of what seemed to be
land, in the west part of the horizon, produced considerable alarm,
which was soon dissipated, on observing that the clouds which caused
this strange and remarkable deception began to alter their forms.
13th, Sunday. At 5 P.M. steering S.W., we had a view of the Island
of Socotra (Note 1) through the haze, bearing W. by S. ¼ S., distant
10 or 12 leagues. Stood towards it with an intention of nearing the
shore before daylight next morning, in order that we might have an
opportunity of ascertaining the position of the easternmost point of
the island, but the Sylph making the signal that she had struck
soundings, we hove to for the remainder of the night. Thermometer
78°, lat. 13° 13′ N., long. 55° 11′ 15″ E.
14th, Monday. We sounded, but found no ground, with a line of 80
fathoms. Made sail again at daybreak, and steering W. by S. coasted
along the south side of the island about 15 miles from the shore.
Lat. 12° 27′ N., long. by chronometer at noon 54° 57′ E. At 2 P.M.
the eastern extremity of Socotra bore N. by W., and, according to
our observations, is situated in lat. 12° 34′ N.; in longitude, from
the chronometer at noon, 45° 45′ 33″, E.
15th, Tuesday. Continued our course along shore, in from 18 to 27
fathoms, over a bottom of red coral. Socotra towards the south
presents an appearance extremely dreary; its arid rocks seemed
destitute of trees or verdure of any kind, at least, none were
visible to us, though frequently examined through our best glasses
at only a few miles distance. On approaching it from the east, land
showed in the form of a high promontory, termed by navigators the
Dolphin’s nose.[83] As we brought the south cape of the island
abreast of us an extensive rocky precipice of considerable height,
and remarkable for its uniformity in this respect, approaching close
to the water’s edge, concealed the land in the interior and appeared
to occupy the whole centre of the island, the land at each extremity
terminating in irregular mountains, some of which on the east are of
a good height. We ascertained the position of the south cape or
headland to be in lat. 12° 20′ N., long. 53° 37′ E., and that of the
western extremity as far as visible in lat. 12° 24′ N., long. 53°
26′ E. Continuing to steer W. by S., we saw the two small square
isles called by the English The Brothers, bearing about 50 miles
W.S.W. of the south cape of Socotra; the eastern one named by the
Arabs Duraga,[84] or Degree Island, is situated, according to our
observation, in lat. 12° 7′ N., long. 53° 23′ E.; from the east it
has very much the appearance of a castle or citadel. The other,
called Sumhaa, is about 8 or 10 miles west of Duraja, has a
remarkable rocky process on one end bearing a striking resemblance
to a sentry-box or watch-tower. Its position is in lat. 20° 8′ N.,
long. 53° 18′ E. The weather still fine, with a cloudy sky, the
thermometer at 76½; lat. to-day at noon 12° 2′ N., long. per
chronometer 53° 30′ E.
16th, Wednesday. Pursuing our course west and by south, we at noon
passed the Island of Abdulcuria,[85] the disjointed rocks of which
appeared at a distance like so many separate isles. It extends in a
N.W. and N.E. direction, and bears from the south Cape of Socotra W.
by S. 100 miles, and 50 miles W. 1/2 S. of the Brothers; the island
is an appendage of Socotra, to the chief of which it is subject; it
is said to afford plenty of fresh water.[86] Passing this island,
the high land on the eastern extremity of the African Continent
presented itself to our view, and at 9 P.M. we hove to with the
ship’s head to the S.E.—Cape Guardafui, bearing W. by N. 1/2 N.,
distant 9 or 10 leagues. We were still favoured with fine cool
weather, the thermometer at 77°, with light winds varying from N.E.
to E. and S.E., and the sky generally overspread with light-coloured
clouds: with the exception of the night of the 5th, no dew has
fallen since we sailed. Lat. at noon 11° 49′ N.; long. by
chronometer 52° 13′ E., variation by azimuth 5° 31′ W.; the position
of Abdulcuria according to our observations is in North lat. 12°,
and long. 52° 20′ E.
17th, Thursday. At sunrise made sail again, steering in a S.W.
direction along the Continent of Africa in from 35 to 70
fathoms,—white sand and coral; but about 4 P.M. it falling calm, and
finding a current setting us inshore at the rate of half-a-mile an
hour, came to in 38 fathoms to prevent ourselves being imbayed. At
6, a breeze springing up from the eastward, encouraged us to make
another attempt, but presently dying away, we were again obliged to
anchor. While lying here we put out our lines and caught one fine
rock-fish, which are probably very plentiful, as we observed our
consort, the Sylph, haul up several in a short space of time. At 10
P.M. weighed with a light easterly wind, and stood to the S.E. We
had this day cloudy weather, with light variable winds; the
thermometer at 78½°. Lat. 11° 41′ N.; long. per chronometer at noon
51° 14′ S. According to this as Cape Guardafui is in N. lat. 11°
49′, long. 51° 13′ E.
18th, Friday. Working off shore with light baffling winds, in from
45 to 55 fathoms, sand. The weather cloudy, with slight showers of
rain, and a lowering sky. A considerable dew had fallen during the
night, and the air to-day felt damp and unpleasant. The thermometer
at 78½°; found the current setting us in-shore at the rate of one
mile per hour. Lat. 11° 30′ N.; long. by chronometer at noon 51° 31′
15″ E.
19th, Saturday. Dew at night, and during the day southerly winds
continued to prevail with damp cloudy weather, and occasional
showers of rain; the thermometer at 78½°. Tacking off and on shore,
we had in the course of the day another sight of the Island of
Abdulcuria and the Brothers, the former bearing N.W. of us, and the
latter in a north-easterly direction. Lat. obsd. 11° 42′ N.; long.
by lunar at 9 A.M. 51° 56′, and by chronometer at noon 52° 5′, E.,
variation by azimuth 7° W. About 6 P.M. in attempting to tack, the
ship refused to stay, and, in consequence, got foul of the Sylph,
which we at the time had in tow. Fortunately, however, after some
alarm and a little trouble, we soon got clear again, without
material damage being sustained by either vessel.
20th, Sunday. Continued working along the African shore with fresh
southerly winds, the thermometer at 79½°, Cape Guardafui and the
Brothers still in sight. Abdulcuria at sunset bore N. and by E. of
us distant 14 or 15 leagues. Lat. 11° 27′ N.; long. per lunar at 9
A.M., 52° 24′ E., and by chron. at noon 52° 29′ E., variation per
azimuth 6½° W.
21st, Monday. Still working against the southerly winds; no land in
sight. The thermometer at 79½°. Lat. observed at noon 10° 50′ N.;
long. by lunar at 10 A.M. 52° 37′, and by chron. at noon 52° 43′ E.,
variation, 8° 20′ W.
22nd, Tuesday. During the early part of the day fresh southerly
winds, with the thermometer at 79½°. Towards the evening it fell
calm, when we lowered the boat and tried the current; found it
setting to the northward at the rate of half a knot an hour. Lat.
observed 10° 43′ N.; long. by chron. 53° E.
23rd, Wednesday. We had light southerly winds and calm in the
morning, but a northerly breeze springing up in the afternoon
permitted us to lay our course S.W. Still no land to be seen. The
thermometer at 79½°. Lat. observed 10° 28′ N.; long. by chron. 53°
E.
24th, Thursday. Steering W.S.W. with a fresh northerly breeze. The
weather damp and misty, and frequent drizzling rain. Thermometer
78½°. Lat. observed 9° 8′ N.; long. by chron. 51° 55′ 15″ E.
25th, Friday. Proceeding westward, we in course of the forenoon saw
land, which, as we now approached that part of the coast where the
objects of our investigation lay, was looked to with anxious
expectation. It bore N.W. by W. distant from us 5 or 6 leagues, and
by the situation of the ship, knew it to be the land between Cape
Orfui[87] and Cape Basseos:[88] as this coast has been hitherto
considered as desert and inaccessible, we were anxious to examine
it, but the thick haze which hung over the land, and the light winds
and currents which we never failed to experience on nearing the
shore, obliged us to heave off towards the evening to avoid getting
imbayed; the land, as it appeared to us, seemed fully to justify the
descriptions given of it. It seemed of a moderate uniform height,
and barren and sandy, without vestige of habitation, or vegetable
production of any kind. We hove to for a short time in the
afternoon, and discovered by striking soundings in thirty fathoms,
and suddenly deepening again, that we had happened on a sandbank,
many of which probably lay along this coast. While we lay to the
lines were put overboard, and shark and rock-fish of various kinds
being found in great plenty, a good number was soon taken,
sufficient to furnish the whole ship’s company with a fresh meal in
the evening: made sail again, standing out from the land. We had
to-day moderate north-easterly winds with fair weather; the
thermometer at 80°. Lat. observed 8° 20′ N.; long. by chron. at noon
50° 32′ E.; variation 6° 12′ W. Immediately after discovering land,
we perceived a large dow or boat close in shore, which appeared
eager to avoid us.
26th, Saturday. At daylight we could see nothing either of the boat
or land, having lost sight of both during the night. Standing in, we
again saw the coast about 7 in the morning. Its appearance was
similar to what we sailed along the preceding day, only it was more
flat, and considerably lower,[89] but equally barren. Kept our way
along shore at the distance of about 6 or 8 miles, in from 10 to 25
fathoms, sand and shells. A little before sunset we hove to in 25
fathoms, and were again very successful in fishing. At 6 P.M. made
sail, still keeping a respectable distance from the shore. The
weather clear and warm, with steady easterly winds, the thermometer
at 79½°. Lat. 7° 10′ N.; long. per chron. 49° 42′ 30″ E.
27th, Sunday. Continued our way along the coast three or four miles
from the shore, in from 20 to 25 fathoms, sand and gravel, with a
very strong current[90] in our favour. The land opposite us to-day
was low and even, and had somewhat a better appearance than any we
had for some days before seen. Green spots were here and there
observable, and we could distinguish on the shore several natives
and a few cattle, but of what description we were not near enough to
ascertain. Fish still continued to be caught in great abundance.
About 3 P.M. saw higher land[91] ahead, which we took to be Cape
Bassas (Note 2), the position of which, though described to be a
very dangerous place, had never been accurately laid down; we were
therefore anxious to determine it, and to have an opportunity of
doing so properly, kept working to windward that we might not pass
it during the night. Winds still easterly with warm weather. The
thermometer at 79½°. Lat. 5° 37′ N.; long. by lunar at 8 P.M. 49°
20′ E.; variation per amplitude 8° 40′ W.
28th, Monday. Passed the elevated land seen yesterday afternoon, and
at 2 P.M. Cape Bassas was abreast of us, distant a few miles. The
real situation of this cape we had difficulty to determine, for the
land along, low and smooth, had so much sameness in appearance, and
that forming the cape itself so little remarkable from the rest,
that had we not observed the coast to recede considerably on each
side, making opposite to us an evident projection or headland, we
should still have remained in great uncertainty respecting it. At 5
or 6 miles’ distance from the shore struck soundings in 19 fathoms,
hard ground, and we had still a strong current in our favour, but we
observed little or no rippling about the ship. The position of the
cape (Note 3) according to the mean of several good observations is
in N. lat. 4° 44′, and long. 48° 17′ E., variation per azimuth 9° 7′
W. After ascertaining the situation of this cape[92] we stood to
windward during the night. To-day the weather continued fine with a
moderate easterly wind, the thermometer at 78°. Lat. observed at
noon 4° 59′ N.
29th, Tuesday. Stood in again and steered along the coast to the
southward of Cape Bassas at the distance of three miles in from 10
to 20 fathoms sand and shells. The land here was white and sandy,
but in several places there was apparently tolerable pasturage
ground, on which were seen several small groups of huts and some
pretty numerous herds of cattle. By the number of people observed on
these spots this tract seemed better frequented; but its general
appearance was similar with that to the northward of the cape.
During the preceding night a considerable dew had fallen, and the
weather to-day was damp and cloudy, the thermometer at 78½°. As the
supposed site of the river Doara[93] (Note 4) was near at hand, the
examination of which formed one of our principal objects, it became
desirable to avoid passing any part of the coast in the night, but
towards the evening the wind unfortunately began to blow very fresh
with a heavy swell, and being on bad holding ground, we were once
more reluctantly compelled to work to windward. Lat. observed at
noon 4° 14′ N.; long. by lunar at 2 P.M. 47° 42′ E.; variation per
azimuth 9° 15′ W.
30th, Wednesday. Continued steering S.W. about 2½ miles from the
land, in from 7 to 10 fathoms, white sand and coral, the Sylph
keeping her course half way between us and the shore in regular
soundings of 6 and 7 fathoms. This day’s sail presented the same
barren prospect as the coast we had already traced; it was still low
and sandy, remarkably white, and to all appearance completely
desert; neither huts, people, nor cattle of any description to be
observed. The shore was in many places rocky, and a high surf beat
over it. At 2 P.M. breakers appeared ahead, distant less than 2
miles, and a little beyond them, low land, which seemed to be an
island; to weather these it became necessary to haul off shore, and
immediately after taking this precaution, the wind began again to
blow exceeding fresh, with a very heavy swell, which forced us to
continue standing out to sea during the whole night. Weather still
damp and cloudy, and the thermometer at 79½. Lat. observed at noon
3° 30′ N.; long. by chron. 47° 25′ E.
31st, Thursday. The wind increased to a gale and blew furiously
during the whole day and following night, attended with a tremendous
heavy swell, which prevented us from approaching the shore near
enough to see anything distinctly; we could only remark that the
land seemed to be higher than what we had lately seen. Weather still
damp and cloudy, and the thermometer at 79°. Lat. observed at noon
2° 44′ N.; long. by chron. 46° 5′ E.; variation by amplitude 10° W.
February 1st, Friday. The wind moderating, we continued our course
along the coast in very irregular soundings of from 10 to 65
fathoms, rocks and gravel. At 9 A.M. the mosques of Magadosho were
seen bearing W.S.W. distant 9 or 10 miles. The late gale has
therefore carried us farther to the southward of the reported mouth
of the Doara—a mortifying circumstance, and to us a very severe
disappointment, for we had promised ourselves much gratification in
exploring that river—so interesting, and at the same time so little
known. At noon Magadosho bore W.N.W. of the ship two or three miles;
here we sounded, but could find no ground with a line of 80 fathoms.
The town, which is large and irregular, is situated on an uneven
sandy piece of ground close to the beach; the land behind
considerably lower than that on either side. The houses resemble
those seen in the towns on the coast of Arabia and Persia, and are
apparently built of stones and mud, of a low, square form, with
small doors and windows, and have all flat roofs. The most
conspicuous objects are the mosques already mentioned; there are
four of them; three of which are placed in the town, the other among
some straggling buildings, a little to the northward. The land both
to the N.E. and S.W. is of a reddish colour, thickly covered with
black spots, and upon them some low-spreading trees, which have a
very uncommon appearance. About ten miles to the southward is a
remarkable white sandy hill, which, with the red hills already
mentioned, are excellent marks in approaching Magadosho. The
sea-shore immediately opposite the town is sandy and guarded by a
reef, which, running from the rocks on the N.E. to the S.W. end of
the town, extends to about a quarter of a mile from the beach;
within the anchorage is said to be excellent. To the S.W., as to the
N.E., the shore is in many places low and rocky, forming what has
been described as islands (Note 5). We were doubtful of this, but
did not go near enough to ascertain. We observed a large village on
the northernmost of these supposed islands, a few miles south of
Magadosho. Having determined the position of the town, we were in
hopes that we might at last be enabled to anchor, and pursue at
leisure the inquiries we proposed to make here concerning some of
the objects of our search, but our bad fortune continued to attend
us, for the wind began again to blow very fresh, with an exceedingly
heavy swell setting in towards the shore. Under these circumstances,
we did not think it prudent to trust ourselves at anchor in an open
unprotected roadstead with a reef of rocks under our lee; we
therefore bore away along the coast to the S.W. of Magadosho till
the evening, when we stood out to sea and passed a night more
tempestuous than any we had hitherto experienced. The weather still
damp, with heavy dews at night, thermometer at 78°. Lat. observed at
noon 2° 4′ N.; long. by chron. at noon 45° 46′ E. According to us,
Magadosho is situated in N. lat. 2° 3′,[94] and in long. by chron.
42° 43′ E.
2nd, Saturday. Being driven from Magadosho the preceding night, we
intended if possible to make Meeya or Maiea,[95] a place laid down
about 14 or 15 miles to the S.W. of Madagascar. At twilight,
however, saw nothing of such a place, and were again forced to stand
out to sea during the night, when we must have passed it; for at
noon to-day we were off the town of Brava in N. lat. 1° 11′, and
long. 44° 9′ E. This town is situated under some very high reddish
land, spotted with black rocks, and has several small islands
abreast of it at a very short distance from the shore, one of which,
to the southward, opposite a white sandy patch of high ground, has a
tower or lighthouse on it. The land between Magadosho and Brava is
uniformly high, and has that remarkable reddish appearance already
so often described. Our bad fortune still persecuted us; we could
not anchor here for the same reasons that had prevented us at
Magadosho; we therefore yielded to our fate, and again took refuge
in a secure distance from the shore. The houses of Brava are similar
to those of Magadosho. The weather continued unaltered, with the
thermometer at 80°; N. lat. observed at noon 1° 14′.
3rd, Sunday. At noon we were in lat. 0° 5′ N. The land is low and
woody. Proceeded along shore, looking attentively for a river (Note
6) described to discharge itself thereabouts: our search proving
fruitless, at sunset came to anchor three or four miles from the
shore in 12 fathoms, soft sand; the land abreast of the ship low,
sandy, and rocky. Though the wind had much abated to-day, still,
however, it blew fresh with a considerable swell, and the weather
continued damp, with dew at night. Thermometer at 78½°. Lat. at noon
0° 5′ N.; long. 43° 11′ E.
4th, Monday. About midnight the Sylph parted from her anchor, got
under weigh early in the morning, and at noon passed the River Dos
Fuegos, or the Rogues’ River, and Juba[96] Irunjba, a village
situated at its mouth, but at too great a distance to make any
particular observations. The coast for a little north of this river
to Patta is faced by one continued chain of islands, some of which
are large and wooded, others very small. These islands are sometimes
connected by reefs[97] of rocks, over which a large surf beats, and
sandbanks surround them. The reefs run through their whole length,
frequently extending a considerable way out to sea; in one place,
about 20 miles south of Juba, even to 7 or 8 miles, opposite which
is a remarkable high insulated rock in-shore, appearing like a
square tower; here also the reef stretches a long way out—perhaps 5
or 6 miles. Though there are no soundings close to the edge of this
part of the bank, the water was remarked to have a very white
colour, resembling that often seen at the mouths of large rivers.
The land on this part of the Continent is in general moderately
high, and almost universally covered with wood; the shore shelves to
a smooth sandy beach, which is guarded by the islands and reefs
noticed. Steady moderate north-easterly winds, with fine weather,
but damp, and dews at night. The thermometer at 78½°. Lat. observed
at noon 0° 24′ S.
5th, Tuesday. In course of the afternoon passed by a deep inlet
where some boats were riding at anchor, and at sunset were abreast
of several large woody islands supposed to be those immediately
north of Patta; between 6 and 7 P.M. came to twelve fathoms, fine
sand. That part of the coast of Africa stretching from the equator
south beyond our present anchorage, promises in its aspect something
very interesting to the enterprising investigator. The numerous
richly-clothed islands which line the shore, separated by beautiful
and frequently spacious inlets and bounded behind by a delightful
continent, rich in all the charms of luxuriant vegetation, present
to the eye a prospect extremely enchanting, and would seem to
indicate a degree of natural wealth equal to the most favoured
regions of the known globe. Nothing could form a more striking
contrast with that in view than the barren coast to the eastward of
Juba.[98] Fine steady easterly breeze, with pleasant weather. It is
worthy of remark, since in the latitudes on this coast near the
line, a heavy dew had been observed to begin falling immediately
after the sun went down, and continued till some time after its rise
next morning; during the day the air felt very dry,[99] thermometer
at 79°. Lat. observed at noon 1° 23′ S.; long. per chron. at noon
41° 59′ E.; variation 13° W.
6th, Wednesday. Weighed and worked to windward for the purpose of
trying the current and to get clear of the land to observe the
latitude at noon; in a few tacks began to gain ground. It was
therefore evident that the strong southerly current which runs along
the coast during the North-east Monsoon had already began to change
its direction, though as yet it is probably only to be felt near the
shore. At noon saw a large dow a few miles astern, standing to the
southward. She seemed at first extremely cautious of approaching the
ships, but seeing English colours, ventured within hail, and being
informed who we were, acquired more confidence. We were informed
they were from Muscat bound to Mampasse;[100] they said their
shyness arose from a suspicion of our being French cruisers. They
afterwards obligingly sent on board two pilots to conduct the ship
to anchorage near Patta.[101] At sunset came to six fathoms and
abreast of some small isles at the south point of the isle of Guien,
which forms the north side of the inlet adjoining the Peer Patta
(Note 7), on which was observed a considerable town (Note 8),
bearing from the ship about N.W. Fired a gun as a signal for a Patta
pilot to carry us through the intricate channel to the inner
anchorage. Wind still steady from the N.E. with fine weather. The
thermometer at 79°. Lat. observed at noon 1° 59′ 6″.
7th, Thursday. A boat with pilots arrived from Patta; got under
weigh and proceeded through the passage at 4, 5, and 6 fathoms, and
at 11 A.M. came to again in a very narrow part of it leading between
the N.E. point of the island of Peer Patta and an extensive
sandbank, dry at low water, which runs a long way out. All of these
islands, namely, Peer Patta, Daw Patta, Mandra, &c., are faced with
shoals of rocks and render the navigation very difficult, and
should, with other considerations, deter trading vessels from
frequenting this port. In the afternoon sent the small boat with our
Hindostanee pilot to Patta, to acquaint the Sooltan of our arrival
and intention of visiting him next day. Weather as heretofore. The
position of this anchorage is in South lat. 2° 4′; long. by chron.
41° 14′ 2″; variation 14° W.
TRANSACTIONS AT PATTA.[102]
8th, Friday. The boat that went yesterday to Patta returned this
morning, having left behind Mallum Ali, the Hindostanee interpreter,
a circumstance which (there being reason to believe his stay not
voluntary) added to the report of the boat’s crew concerning the
deportment of the natives on shore, did not tend to impress us with
a favourable idea of their good intentions. We had already learnt,
from the pilots and others who had visited us on board, that the
place was distracted by civil dissensions; the Sooltanship being
claimed by two rival cousins, whose respective adherents, occupying
the same town, occasioned by their contentions a continual scene of
confusion: and we knew that any correspondence with one party under
these circumstances would, by the other, be considered as evincing a
disposition of hostility towards them. It therefore became a doubt
to which of these savage competitors for royalty we ought to pay our
respects; for though we never dreamt of ascertaining the question of
right and wrong between them, it was of some importance to discover
which party was strongest and best able to protect and assist us in
the prosecution of our inquiries. But this was found impracticable;
several partisans of both factions were indeed on board, but each
endeavoured to make it appear that his own was the right and
powerful Sooltan. Had the boat’s crew been able to tell whose hands
Mallum Ali had fallen into, it would have settled the matter as to
the person, whoever he might be, there must have been a necessity to
pay court; but none of them could speak with certainty respecting
him. Disappointed in obtaining satisfactory information concerning
this point, it was nevertheless determined to persevere in the
resolution of visiting Patta. Accordingly about 11 A.M. Captain
Smee, in company with Lieut. Hardy, myself, and the pilots, carrying
with us a present (Note 9) for the Sooltan, left the ship in the
large cutter, manned with Europeans. It was judged prudent to take
Arabs (though, to prevent misunderstanding, they remained concealed
till compelled to produce them in our own defence). We had scarcely
got a mile from the ship when we were met by a boat belonging to
Sooltan Hammed with presents for Captain Smee; but finding him on
his way to Patta he declined going any farther; the chief man and
one of the Sepoys came into the cutter, and their boat returned with
us to town. This conduct appearing very suspicious, determined us to
act cautiously and avoid particularly giving any pretence for
violence. After two hours’ sail we arrived off Patta: it was then
low water, and the cutter could not approach nearer to the shore
than half a mile; we were therefore obliged to go separately into
small canoes which the negroes pushed through the mud to the beach.
On landing nobody appeared to receive or conduct us to the
Sooltan—another suspicious circumstance that did not give us much
encouragement. But, had such been our desire, we had already gone
too far to return, for the cutter with all the Europeans and Arabs
were at some distance, and we had no means of rejoining them. Those
who landed were—Captain Smee, Lieut. Hardy, and myself, the
Syrang,[103] captain’s servants, with the pilots and persons from
the Sooltan’s boat. Under the direction of these last we walked from
the landing-place, surrounded by a crowd of armed savages, to a
large unshapely heap of mud called the Palace of Sooltan Hammed,
where we met with our interpreter, Mallum Ali. Having entered it
through a wicket in a strong door or gate, we were conducted across
a square court to a kind of open porch used, it seems, as a place of
public audience; in it were placed several low beds or couches with
broken rattan bottoms, on one of which we were desired to sit down.
They were excessively dirty and looked as if they had been stolen
from some native brother in India. Immediately to the left of the
one in which we were seated, stood the Sooltan’s seat or throne,
being nothing more than a new wooden arm-chair with a high back, and
some rude carving on it. On the ground before, a round piece of wood
or stone with a hole in the middle supplied the place of a
footstool; and around stood a crowd of naked men and boys, for all
ranks and descriptions have, it seems, here free access to the
presence of their sovereign. The Sooltan immediately entered, and,
holding out his hand to us severally, took ours, and put the back of
it to his mouth—a ceremony the natives reversed; they all kissed the
back of his hand. He is in person of a middle stature, rather
corpulent, and has an agreeable countenance; I imagined his age to
be about 35. He was dressed in a long, dirty, yellowish-coloured
gown with a greasy turban on his head, and filthy loose slippers on
his feet, and in the left hand carried a sabre, the handle of which
was of black wood ornamented with gold and silver. Being seated, a
tin goblet of sugar and water, the favourite beverage of the
country, was handed to each, which having drunk, the presents, with
the letters from government, were delivered by Captain Smee, who
complimented the Sooltan in the name of Mr Duncan and the Honourable
Company. He returned the compliments, but did not at that time open
the letters. A conversation afterwards ensued, in which the objects
of the voyage were stated, with a request for all the information in
his power respecting them; but he seemed dissatisfied with the
explanation of our views, which he probably suspected concealed
designs of a dangerous nature, and appeared to stand very much on
the reserve. To our interrogations about the unfortunate Mr
Park[104] and his associates, he only answered, ‘How can I speak of
the man? I never saw him.’ Regarding the rivers on the coast he
confessed Rogues River to be of immense extent, that its sources
were far beyond his knowledge, commonly believed to be in Europe,
or, as he expressed it, ‘in our country;’[105] that a great number
of slaves were brought down it to Brova; but as to the towns, state
of the country, or people which dwell on its banks, he said he was
totally ignorant. At my suggestion it was proposed to introduce the
vaccine or inoculation at Patta, with the means for which I was
ready provided. The Sooltan asked if that was possible, for,
allowing I might be able to do such a thing, how could it be
propagated so as to be of advantage. It was replied that a
sufficient number of persons might be easily instructed for the
purpose; but he seemed to doubt the truth of this assertion, and
treated the proposal with contemptuous neglect. Then, rising, he
abruptly withdrew. Thinking the audience at an end, we were about to
retire, but it was intimated that we must walk into another
apartment, whither they conducted us, the way to it leading through
the opposite side of the court and up a narrow mud staircase: this
room was better furnished, but equally filthy and more gloomy than
the former. The Sooltan soon followed us, and it presently appeared,
if we did not pay a very high price for liberty to take leave of his
Highness, we must consent to remain for a time much exceeding either
our pleasure or convenience. Seating himself for a moment and
whispering to some of his attendants, he rose, and with them retired
into an inner room, where Captain Smee was called, and remained
separated from us during the rest of the conference, which lasted
till near sunset. About 4 P.M. they all came out for a few minutes,
and at this moment a lascar arrived from the boat and told us the
people had been fired upon, but that on showing their arms they
desisted. This outrage (we had a flag of truce flying all the time)
was taken no notice of. The Sooltan laid it to the charge of his
cousin’s (Note 10) party. His Highness, however, seemed perfectly
ashamed of his own treatment of us, which was such as he did not
care to make public, for he carried Captain Smee a second time into
the private apartment for the purpose, as we afterwards understood,
of extorting a promise of money and other articles from him. Our
feelings were at this moment very uncomfortable. It was easy to see
some mischief was in hand, for the place where we sat, and the
passages about it, were filled with armed men; those who before had
none, going out and returning with spears, bows and arrows, &c. Near
sunset, Captain Smee again came out and, without sitting down, said
he was going to the beach; we followed, and though environed by an
armed multitude, reached it without molestation. Finding the boat,
by the rise of the tide, had got close in, we embarked with great
satisfaction. When Captain Smee was first called out, the Sooltan
required that he should supply them with 15 muskets, 10 pistols, 11
barrels of gunpowder, several parcels of flints, &c. This demand was
remonstrated against, on the ground that these articles belonged to
the Company his masters, and if he parted with them he could not
defend himself against his enemies,—two of whose vessels, they
themselves had acknowledged, were at Zanzibar and Quailemane; but
again reflecting he was entirely in their power, promised to comply
with their requisitions as far as compatible with the safety of the
ships under his command. They seemed satisfied; said the French
vessels at Zanzibar and Quailemane were only small vessels trading
for slaves, and for the time put an end to the conference; but
encouraged by success (for they seemed to place great confidence in
the promise of an Englishman), a second request for money to satisfy
their soldiers was made, to which Captain Smee positively refused to
accede. He told them he had no money to spare; asked if the letters
he had delivered had been read; if so, that he was astonished they
should make so unreasonable a demand. To this they returned an
equivocating answer; first they had not; then they had read them.
Perceiving him anxious to take leave (for they evidently intended to
protract the interview till it should be too late for the boat to
get off), they insisted on his staying to eat; said he had better
stay all night, for there was not water enough for the boat to get
to the ship. He said he would go and see, and without giving time
for deliberation, walked out and fortunately got to the beach before
the rabble without knew anything of the affair. Having got the two
pilots into the cutter and a Sepoy belonging to the Sooltan’s boat
who was still waiting on the beach, we put off, determining to keep
him as a security for the safety of Mallum Ali, who remained behind
to preserve a show of friendship with the Sooltan, and at midnight
reached the ships, much fatigued, and happy at having escaped so
well.
DESCRIPTION OF PATTA.
The town of Patta stands on a low square point between two
salt-water creeks surrounded with woods, chiefly cocoa-nut trees,
and is composed of wretched mud buildings. No fruit except the
cocoa-nut was met with, and it was found impossible to procure any
fresh water. The sheep, which are covered with hair instead of wool,
and their goats are excellent (Note 11). The inhabitants belong to
the Souallie[106] tribe, a people sprung from a mixture of the
Galla[107] negroes with the Arabs, &c. The flat nose and thick lips,
so peculiarly distinctive of the African countenance, is generally
observed among them, and sufficiently marks their original
connection with that race;[108] the woolly covering of the head
universally prevails; the colour of their skins varies from a
reddish brown or tawny hue, like the Arabs, to nearly a deep black;
in their dispositions they are cunning and treacherous to the last
degree.[109]
On the 9th, the same boat we met yesterday, and which returned with
us to town, arrived at the ships with presents from the Sooltan,
consisting of 60 cocoa-nuts, three white bullocks, and three goats
in charge of one of his principal men, who came to receive the
articles, the promise of which had been extorted during the
interview at Patta. To give no cause for quarrel, the Sooltan’s
present was accepted, but the boat was sent back with an answer that
until Mallum Ali should be sent on board not a single article would
be parted with. The pilots perceiving the boats go away without
them, became very outrageous, and attempted to leap overboard, but
finding themselves too well guarded, they desisted, and began to say
(in direct contradiction to what they formerly asserted, and on the
strength of which we had allowed ourselves to be brought to the
present anchorage) that there was not water enough for the ships to
get through the channel of the S.W., as the wind rendered it
impossible for us to return the way we came in, and the above
passage the only one by which we could keep clear of the shoals
which surrounded us. We determined to detain the pilots till the
ships were out of danger.
Next day, the 10th, the boat returned with Mallum Ali, though the
promise given to the Sooltan was compulsory, and did not, strictly
speaking, deserve the least regard; yet out of respect to the word
and honour of an Englishman, as well as for the sake of any of our
countrymen who might hereafter fall into their hands, and on whom
they might be tempted to retaliate their disappointment, it was
resolved to adhere to our extorted engagements as far as consistent
with the safety of the ships. Therefore five muskets, two pistols,
two barrels of gunpowder, two bundles of musket-ball cartridges, and
160 flints, being all we could spare, were delivered, with which
they departed very well satisfied, and thus terminated this
troublesome business.
From the 10th to the 12th we were occupied in getting through the
S.W. channel, which proved a very tedious job. The pilots were
either too ignorant or too unwilling to be of much service, and it
became necessary to keep our boats out sounding in order to discover
the passage, and direct the ships how to steer: we found it very
narrow, and interrupted in two places by bars, on which at high
water we found not more than one quarter less three fathoms. From
the anchorage the channel ran W.S.W. 1/2 W., about half a mile, and
then turned to the southward. In leading out on the 11th the Sylph
grounded, but soon got off again; on the evening of the 12th, having
got clear of the sands and rocks, dismissed the pilots, and stood
out to sea during the night. Since anchoring at Patta the weather
(with the exception of the morning of the 8th, when a few drops of
rain fell) was fair with pleasant easterly winds, and heavy dews at
night. The thermometer generally at 82°. The town, as near as we
could ascertain (for we had no opportunity of determining it
exactly), is in lat. 2° 8′ S., and long. by chron. 41° 13′ E.,
variation 14° W.
13th, Wednesday. No land in sight[110] during the day, and light
easterly winds and calms prevailed with clear weather. Lat. at noon
2° 48′ S.
14th, Thursday. The course N.E. by E. Saw land bearing W.N.W., on
which several large fires were burning, and at sunset were abreast
of some small rocky islands, which seemed a continuation of the
chain to the northward of Patta. Wind favourable. Lat. 2° 48′ S.
15th, Friday. In lat. 2° 41′ S., variation per azimuth 13° 29′ W.
Fine weather, with light favourable winds.
16th, Saturday. In course of the afternoon yesterday we passed a
reef of rocks, part of which rose considerably above the surface of
the water, and had a very remarkable appearance. The reef runs from
the N.E. point of Formosa Bay (Note 12), stretching several miles
off shore in a south-easterly direction; the situation[111] I
supposed to be in South lat. 2° 45′, for having to-day at noon
observed in 2° 58′, it was then 15 or 16 miles astern of us. At noon
the S.W. point of Formosa Bay bearing S.W. by W., observed two boats
under the land; stood in with a view to speak them, and fired two
guns which they took no notice of, but crowding all sail, made round
the point into the Bay. Crossing the mouth of Formosa Bay at 5 P.M.,
saw another reef with breakers on it. We were at this time about 4
miles from shore, in 24 fathoms sand, and the breakers could not, I
think, be more than 1½, or at the farthest, two miles from the ship.
At 5 h. 20′ hove to in 13 fathoms, when the water suddenly shoaled
to 6, 5, and one quarter less 4 fathoms, rocks. On shoaling a
mosque, or round tower, was observed on a point or projecting part
of the shore, bearing W. 3/4 N., distant 8 or 9 miles. Hauled our
wind, and stood out for the night, intending to return next morning
to determine as accurately as possible the exact situation of this
dangerous shore. To-day there were light favourable winds with fine
clear weather, the thermometer at 80°. Lat. at noon 2° 58′ S., long.
40° 8′ E.
17th, Sunday. At noon observed in lat. 3° 8′ S., the mosque seen on
shore within the breakers yesterday, bearing due W. (Note 13). Spoke
a country boat, which informed us the tower or mosque was called
Gumanne;[112] also that a river opened at a short distance ahead,
called Quiliffa.[113] At 4 P.M. were abreast of what we imagine to
be this river, which has a small island at its mouth. Though the
distance on the shore did not exceed two miles, no ground could be
found with a line of 70 fathoms, and the water did not appear to be
in any way discoloured. Thermometer 79°; lat. 3° 18′ S.; long. by
chron. 40° 28′ E., by lunar 40° 30′ E.
18th, Monday. The coast rose into gently elevated hills, which were
clothed with wood, and presented a fine fertile appearance. At noon
the opening of the Quiliffa (Note 14), bearing N. 1/4 E. 8 or 9
miles; the lat. observed was 3° 32′ S. About 2 P.M. saw another
river, said to be called the Channay,[114] distant from the ship 1½
miles right abreast. No soundings with 38 fathoms here. It had a
large shoal with breakers close to the mouth, and its probable
position may be in lat. 3° 32′ S., and long. 39° 51′ E.; variation
by azimuth 13° 26′ W. To-day we had light easterly winds, with clear
warm weather, the thermometer at 80½°. Here a pretty strong
southerly current was experienced. Long. 39° 45′.
19th, Tuesday. The town of Mombaze, or as the natives pronounce it
Mampass, was abreast of us, distant two miles. The fort stands at a
short distance from the shore on a steep woody ridge, said to be an
island, and has three flagstaffs on it. A little to the N.E. three
remarkable hills or hummocks[115] serve as good marks for finding
the place. Its situation my be in S. lat. 4° 2′, and in long. 39°
41′ 30″ E. At noon spoke a boat with a cargo of slaves, two days
from Zanzibar, and towards evening saw the Island of Pemba a-head;
worked to windward during night to weather it. Pleasant easterly
breezes, with fine clear weather. The thermometer at 80°. Lat. at
noon 4° 7′ S., long. by chron. 39° 51′ E.
20th, Wednesday. No land in sight during the early part of the day,
which was sultry and calm, but in course of the afternoon, a breeze
springing up about sunset, saw the Island of Pemba bearing S. 1/2 W.
four or five leagues. In the evening stood out to the eastward,
intending to return next day and observe the position of this
island. The thermometer at 81°. Lat. observed at noon 4° 34′ S.
21st, Thursday. At noon observed in 5° 7′ S. the east point of
Pemba, bearing west about two miles. Pemba is a low even island of
considerable extent, being perhaps 16 or 17 leagues[116] in length.
It is entirely covered with wood, and appears well-peopled. The
shore, generally low and steep to the water’s edge, shelves in some
small spots to a sandy beach remarkably white, that at a distance
shows like walls or pieces of buildings. Throughout its whole extent
are numerous creeks or inlets, and towards the S. W. end is a deep
bay with several small islands at its mouth, hitherto as far as I
know undescribed. Fresh north-easterly winds and cloudy weather; the
thermometer at 82½°. Stood to windward during the night.
22nd, Friday. At noon saw the Island of Zanzibar a-head; about
sunset anchored in 25 fathoms, green mud, abreast of Timbat, the
largest of the small woody islands at the north-west end of
Zanzibar. A little after the Sylph came close to us: the thermometer
at 82°; lat. observed at noon 5° 37′ S.
23rd, Saturday, 7 A.M. Weighed and stood along the western side of
the island (the Sylph leading), in from 5 to 15 fathoms, and at 11
anchored in the harbour in 7 fathoms, mud. The town of Zanzibar,
then S.W. by S., distant three-quarters of a mile. Each vessel
saluted the fort with three guns, which was not returned. In course
of the afternoon sent the boat ashore with the Interpreter to
acquaint the Hakim of our arrival. Moderate northerly winds and fair
weather.
24th, Sunday. Accompanied the commanders on a visit to the Governor,
or Hakim, as he is titled. He received us with great civility, and
made many professions of friendship and assistance, which, however,
in the sequel we did not find him disposed to act up to. We were
saluted on landing and coming off by the fort and a ketch in the
harbour. Thermometer 82½. Fair weather. (Note 15.)
PROCEEDINGS AT ZANZIBAR, from the 25th February to the 9th April,
1811, with some account of the island.
Zanzibar, situated between the 6th and 7th of S. lat. and 39th and
40th of E. long., is an island of considerable extent, being nearly
50 miles in length, and 20 in breadth; its distance from the east
coast of the African Continent, along which it stretches in a
N.-easterly and S.-westerly direction, may be about 15 or 16
leagues;[117] between the Continent and it, however, there is no
passage for large vessels, except through the harbour, as a reef
runs obliquely across from the African shore to the small islands
which lie close to the western side of Zanzibar.[118] These islets,
which stand considerably nearer to the south than the north (Note
16) extreme of the island,[119] are all, except one, covered with
wood, and help to form the harbour. They run in a semi-circle, the
concave side of which is towards Zanzibar, and are connected
together by reefs of rocks, which, in blowy weather, break the
swell, and render the port remarkably smooth and safe. The entrances
into it are from the north and south; both lead between the small
islet at the extremity of the semi-circle and the western shore of
Zanzibar. The northern entrance, which leads within the small woody
isle, called Frenchman’s Island,[120] is very narrow and crooked, in
consequence of sand-banks, which run out from opposite shores,
crossing each other. On the shallowest part (which will be known by
bringing three northern woody isles in one) the depth is not more
than three or four fathoms. The southern passes between a sandy isle
(Note 17), and the point on which the town of Zanzibar stands is
broader than the other, and has 7 or 8 fathoms water in it. The
depth within the harbour is from 7 to 9 fathoms, with a tolerably
good bottom: the rise of water during spring is nearly three
fathoms.[121] Immediately adjoining the north end of the town is an
extensive creek or inlet, which runs a little way in, and turns up
behind the town. Here vessels of all descriptions are hauled up in
security during the virulence of the S.W. Monsoon. With a very
little care it might be converted into an excellent dock, and
deepened, so as to admit with ease ships of at least five or six
hundred tons.
The appearance of the island is extremely delightful. It is in
general low, especially at the extremities, where it is thickly
covered with a jungle and brushwood; but towards the middle the land
rises into hills and gentle eminences, which are cultivated, and
clothed with cocoa-nut trees. Besides the periodical rains which
fall here from the month of March to September, the island itself is
well-watered with a variety of springs, which unite and form a
number of delightful streams, that flow during the dry season, and
keep up that appearance of fertility and beauty, which it exhibits
throughout the whole year. None of these streams are large: that at
which the ships water[122] is situated about 1½ mile north of the
town, where it flows into the sea, at the north entrance of the
harbour. The water when first taken up is good, but from the
quantity of putrid vegetable matter in suspension, upon keeping a
short time it becomes very offensive both in taste and smell; in a
few weeks, however, it regains its original sweetness. Ships ought
always to fill at low water, else they will have it brackish. The
climate of Zanzibar is similar to that of India, only the Monsoon,
or rainy season, sets in sooner. From September to March the season
is dry and warm; the rest of the months are rainy and tempestuous.
During our stay the thermometer ranged from 80½ to 87½° at noon; and
from the date of our arrival to the 5th of March, the weather was
dry, cloudy, and warm, with northerly winds. From that, till our
departure, it was in general cloudy, with frequent violent squalls
of wind, and rain from the S.W., attended with much thunder and
lightning.
The town of Zanzibar is situated on the west side of the island on a
tongue of land formed by the above-mentioned creek, and faces the
small sandy isle which constitutes the southern boundary of the
harbour. It is large and populous, and is composed chiefly of cajan
huts, all neatly constructed with sloping roofs. There are, however,
a good number of stone buildings in it belonging to the Arabs and
merchants; and in the centre, close to the beach, stands a fort,
seemingly partly of Arab, partly of Portuguese, construction. It is
square with a tower at each corner, and a battery or outwork towards
the sea, in which I observed four or five guns of French manufacture
remarkable for their length. In the middle of the town we observed a
tree[123] of uncommon size: its height was about 8 or 10 feet, and
from a rude measurement which we took, its circumference could not,
I think, be less than 36 or 40 (Note 18). Zanzibar according to our
observations stands in lat. 6° 6′ S., and long. 39° 15′ E.[124]
(Note 19.) It is the only assemblage of habitations on the island
that deserves the name of town or even village; for the principal
part of the inhabitants without the town being slaves of
landholders, are scattered over their respective owners’ estates.
The sovereignty of the island belongs to the Imaum of Muscat,[125]
who appoints the Hakim or governor, and to whom the revenue derived
from its commerce and land-tenures devolves. This revenue is said to
amount to 60,000 crowns annually, though I have reason to believe it
to be much more. His whole establishment consists of the Hakim, an
assistant or councillor, and three Arab officers, to command the
garrison. The present Hakim is a slave of his own whose history is
somewhat curious: he is named Yacoud,[126] and was originally from
Abyssinia: he belonged to the Imaum’s uncle and predecessor, who,
detecting him in some familiarities with one of his young female
slaves, caused him to be emasculated. Since his former master’s
death he has become a great favourite of the present one, who
promoted him to this distant and lucrative government,—perhaps
considering that, as he had lost all relish for the only pleasure
that can induce an Arab to dissipate his own or his master’s money,
he would likely turn out a faithful and valuable servant; nor has he
been disappointed. Yacoud’s ruling passion is the love of power, to
attain which he himself lives like a beggar, and tyrannically
extorts from the inhabitants large sums, which, with his own
savings, he faithfully transmits as the price of his continuance in
the government. The people, however, who live under his sway, detest
and despise him. The revenue, as already stated, arises from
land-tenures and customs; and though there is no regular land-tax
levied, yet it is sometimes resorted to to raise a supply, an
instance of which happened while we were there. One of the Imaum’s
ships arrived from Muscat with a demand for 25,000 crowns to assist
him in opposing the Wahabees, though I sincerely believe it was to
defray the repairs of the very ship which brought the demand, and
which was going to Bengal for that purpose. As this sum was not in
the Hakim’s possession, he immediately imposed a kind of land-tax,
so much to be raised in each district, the chief man of which was
ordered to collect it and be answerable for its payment at a stated
time, in default of which he was to be imprisoned. The other source
from whence the revenue proceeds is a custom of 5 per cent. allowed
by the Imaum to be gathered on all imports. This, however, is often
very unjustly collected, and few, I believe, except Arabs, ever pay
so little on their goods as the lawful sum. The Imaum maintains no
kind of military force. The Hakim’s slaves, amounting to 400 or 500
men, are armed to serve as soldiers under the above three Arab
officers. There are no imports or exports, though we were told the
French pay voluntarily a premium of 10 dollars each for the slaves
they take, to secure the good-will of the governor; they are in
consequence great favourites, and from this circumstance we may
easily account for his subsequent coolness to us, which was not
lessened by his hearing of the surrender of the Isle of France while
we were there, and on which occasion both vessels fired a royal
salute. The principal articles of export are slaves and ivory, also
a small quantity of drugs (Note 20). The number of slaves annually
sent to Muscat, India, and the Isle of France, &c., are estimated at
not less than from 6000 to 10,000. The quantity of ivory is also
very great, and is sent principally to Surat. Of imports the
following are the chief: Surat and Dungaree cloth from Cutch; iron,
sugar, and rice from Bombay, rice from Pemba, dates from the Gulf of
Persia; slaves, ivory, and drugs from Magadosho, Brava, Ganu,
Mombas, and other towns along the African coast (Note 21). The
number of trading vessels, including those from Semap and Cutch,
amounted at the time we left the island to upwards of 50. I could
not procure accurate information as to the quantity of the above
articles annually imported; but from the amount of the custom, the
value cannot be under £300,000. We were told that the demand for
European goods on the continent was very great; and if the natives
had any returns to make besides ivory and slaves,[127] I have little
doubt but we might here find an extensive and lucrative vent for
numerous articles of our manufacture.
A GENERAL VIEW OF THE EXPORTS AND IMPORTS OF ZANZIBAR.
Exports. │ Imports.
Slaves. │Surat cloth 
Ivory. │Dungaree cloth
Drugs. │Iron
Coir. │Sugar and rice
Cocoa-nuts. │Salt fish and Ghee, from Socotra.
Beeswax. │Cloths, cotton
Tortoise-shell.│China ware
│Earthen jars
│Toys and ornaments
│Rice, from Pemba.
│Dates, from Gulf of Persia.
│Slaves, ivory, and
│Beeswax and
│Tortoise shell
The inhabitants of Zanzibar consist of Arabs, descendants of Arabs
from Souallie mothers. The Arabs are not very numerous; but the
principal part of the slaves and landed property belong to them. A
considerable number of Banians likewise reside in the town, many of
whom appear to be wealthy, and hold the best part of the trade in
their hands. The Souallies form by far the major part of the
population, and are almost all slaves to the Arabs—800 or 900 of
them sometimes belonging to one individual. They are in general
purchased in their native country on the opposite shores, when
young, and are brought here by the slave merchants, who dispose of
them either to the Arabs or to the merchants, &c., for exportation.
Those are fortunate who fall into the hands of Arabs, who are justly
famed for their mild treatment of their slaves. They are allowed a
small habitation on their master’s estate; and not being overworked,
and the fertile soil furnishing with little trouble the means for
their subsistence, they seem to enjoy a considerable portion of
contentment and happiness—a strong proof of which is, that they
propagate freely.
All, however, are not equally well situated; and the advocates for
the slave-trade ought to witness the market of Zanzibar, after
which, if they possess the slightest spark of generous feeling, I
will answer for an alteration in their present opinion. The show
commences about 4 o’clock in the afternoon. The slaves, set off to
the best advantage by having their skins cleaned, and burnished with
cocoa—nut oil, their faces painted with red and white stripes, which
is here esteemed elegance, and the hands, noses, ears, and feet,
ornamented with a profusion of bracelets of gold and silver and
jewels, are ranged in a line, commencing with the youngest, and
increasing to the rear according to their size and age. At the head
of this file, which is composed of all sexes and ages from 6 to 60,
walks the person who owns them; behind, and at each side, two or
three of his domestic slaves, armed with swords and spears, serve as
a guard. Thus ordered, the procession begins, and passes through the
market-place and principal streets; the owner holding forth, in a
kind of song, the good qualities of his slaves and the high prices
that have been offered for them. When any of them strikes a
spectator’s fancy the line immediately stops, and a process of
examination ensues, which, for minuteness, is unequalled in any
cattle market in Europe. The intending purchaser having ascertained
there is no defect in the faculties of speech, hearing, &c., that
there is no disease present, and that the slave does not snore in
sleeping, which is counted a very great fault, next proceeds to
examine the person: the mouth and teeth are first inspected, and
afterwards every part of the body in succession, not even excepting
the breasts, &c., of the girls, many of whom I have seen handled in
the most indecent manner in the public market by their purchasers;
indeed, there is every reason to believe that the slave-dealers
almost universally force the young females to submit to their lust
previous to their being disposed of. The slave is then made to run
or walk a little way, to show there is no defect about the feet; and
after which, if the price be agreed to, they are stripped of their
finery and delivered over to their future master. I have frequently
counted between twenty and thirty of these files in the market, some
of which contained about thirty. Women with children newly-born,
hanging at their breasts, and others so old they can scarcely walk,
are sometimes seen dragged about in this manner. I observed they had
in general a very dejected look; some groups appeared so ill-fed
that their bones seemed as if ready to penetrate the skin. From such
scenes one turns away with pity and indignation, and while he
execrates the conductor of this infamous traffic, blushes that his
country should ever have sanctioned such iniquity, and remembers
with exultation the men who freed her from so great a disgrace.
The number of inhabitants on the island may be estimated at 200,000
(Note 22), three-fourths of whom at least are slaves. The Souallee
tribe appears to have sprung from a mixture of Galla negroes, Arabs,
natives of India, &c. They inhabit that portion of the African coast
extending from the equator to the Mozambique as the Soomallie tribes
do that on the north, stretching to the Cape Guardafui; their
country is, however, confined to a narrow tract along the sea-coast,
the district behind belonging to the Galla (Note 23), who are also
divided into two different kinds—those living north of the line
behind the Somallies are denominated Borran Galla; those on the
south side behind the Souallies are distinguished by the term
Carratche. Whether these differ much in person or manners I have
been unable to learn.
The Souallies have much more of the negro appearance than the
Soomallies; they have both woolly hair, and their skins are of a
deep black, but the Soomallie has neither the flat nose nor thick
lips which distinguishes the negro, and which is a very prominent
feature among the Souallies of Zanzibar. The Soomallies are also to
be distinguished by their slender make, which renders them more
active, and they possess a superior degree of vivacity to the
others, who appear to be of a grave character. With regard to the
religion and peculiar customs of these people, we had little
opportunities of becoming acquainted with them. The Souallies of
Zanzibar being under the sway of Arabs, in general adopt their
manners; and as to religion, those who profess any, I believe,
follow them in that likewise.
We did not observe that any of their domestic customs were singular
enough to deserve a particular description, except one, which,
though not peculiar to them, is perhaps carried to a greater length
than in most other places. I allude to the manner in which they
inter, or rather, expose, their dead. It is a habit all over the
town to bury amongst the houses, commonly under a tree, close to the
deceased person’s former habitation, which presents to a stranger
the appearance of a churchyard, and it would be well if the eye
alone was the only organ offended. Though the Arabs and wealthy are
properly covered, and have neat tombs erected over them, the poor
are only wrapped up in a mat, and have scarce sufficient sand thrown
over the corpse to hide it from the view; indeed, some part of it is
generally to be seen sticking through, and as to the slaves, they
are often laid out to putrefy on the beach,[128] not a single rag of
cloth or handful of earth being laid over them. In consequence of
this disgusting practice the stench in and about the town is
intolerable; and co-operating with the noxious effluvia which arises
from the putrid vegetable matter during the rainy season, tends to
produce fever and fluxes, which, we learned, make annually during
that period dreadful ravages among the inhabitants.
The English have hitherto had very little communication with
Zanzibar, though the French are frequently in the habit of coming
there from the Mauritius for slaves and Mocha coffee. Previous to
our arrival only one English vessel had touched at the island since
Admiral Blankett’s squadron was there in 1799, on his passage up the
coast to the Red Sea. Captain Bissel, whose account of that
expedition is published by Dalrymple, says they were told no British
ships had been there previous to that, within the memory of the
oldest person then living, and that they found the natives of the
inferior order so ignorant of the value of coin, as to prefer, in
their exchanges, a gilt button to a guinea. This might have been the
case then I will not dispute; but we not only found them well
acquainted with money, but as dexterous at over-reaching in a
bargain and exorbitant in their demands as any dealer in the bazaar
of Bombay. They were, however, as he justly observes, very civil and
hospitable, though not so much as he describes; but this difference
was probably owing to the dislike which the Hakim showed to us. Our
taking no hand in the slave-trade was remarked to have considerable
influence among the generality of the lower people in giving them a
favourable impression of our character, and for a contrary reason
they never failed to execrate the French, notwithstanding they were
favourites of their Hakims.
The soil of the island is in general light and sandy towards the
coast, but a little inland it is found to be a rich black mould,
seemingly composed of decayed vegetation, and the numerous springs
and periodical rains, with the excellent shelter afforded by the
cocoa-nut trees, which everywhere cover the island, all conspire to
render it extremely fruitful. Nothing can exceed the profusion of
fruits abounding in every quarter, all of them excellent.
Pine-apples of the most delicious sort are growing everywhere wild,
and heaps of oranges, guavas, &c., for want of consumers, are left
to rot on the ground which produced them. The following are the
principal fruits and vegetable productions of the island, viz.:
pine-apples, guavas, mangoes, lemons, limes, oranges, plantains,
bananas, pomegranates (a few imported by the Arabs), cocoa-nuts, and
many others, sugar-canes (Note 24), pumpkins, onions, sweet
potatoes, and the root of a plant which is called by the natives
mahogo (the Farina de pás[129] of the Portuguese).
Why the natives do not cultivate grain is hard to conceive; perhaps
the great plenty of the cocoa-nuts and the mahogo, with the
profusion of fruit, supersedes the necessity, and renders them
averse to the labour, of raising corn, although their country must
be exceedingly well adapted to it. The mahogo, which is the
principal article of diet, is eaten by them either simply roasted or
boiled, or it is cut into small pieces, which, being dried in the
sun, is ground into flour, of which is made a very palatable kind of
bread.
The operations of agriculture are not numerous, and indeed consist
chiefly in clearing the ground; this is done by fire, and seems to
be the practice throughout Africa. Within the tropics, where the
luxuriancy of vegetation is so great, it would be a work of great
labour, if not an absolute impossibility, to get rid of this in any
other way. The time of doing it is at the end of the dry season,
when the crops are collected and the rains are about to set in. In
coming down the coast we observed fires all along the fertile
country south of the line.
Asses and camels are the only beasts of burthen (Note 25), and being
scarce, are very valuable; horses have been imported by the Arabs,
but will not live. Bullocks and goats (Note 26) are good and in
plenty, and can be procured for a moderate price; a good bullock
fetches from ten to twelve dollars in the town, but might probably
be got for much less in the country. The rest of their quadrupeds
are cats and monkeys of various species. There are scarcely any dogs
on the island, the Souallies having a great aversion to them. When a
dog accidentally touches one of these people, he shows signs of
loathing and abhorrence.[130]
Poultry is plentiful and cheap; sixteen large or eighteen small
fowls may be bought for a dollar; but, what is a little
extraordinary, eggs are both scarce and dear, and when procured are
generally bad: they have also Muscovy ducks and Guinea-fowl, which
last are found wild on the island. The variety of birds and wild
fowl is not great. The principal are the whistling duck and curlews,
and the ibis of the ancients, so numerous on the banks of the Nile,
pigeons, doves, and a few others.
Spanish dollars and German crowns are the coins commonly current
among them; and though they will take some others, they prefer
these. Among the shoals and rocks which connect the small islands
that surround the harbour, and in the harbour itself, delicious fish
of great variety are usually taken in plenty, either with nets or
with the line and hook; and those who will take the trouble to
examine the shoals at low-water during spring-tides, will find their
labour amply repaid by a collection of curious and rare shells,
which for beauty are not to be surpassed by any in the known world.
Notwithstanding the heat of the climate, the vast quantity of wood,
and filthy manners of the inhabitants, it does not appear that
Zanzibar is an unhealthy island, except during the rainy season,
when fevers and fluxes are, from the above causes, very prevalent,
but which by proper regulations might be easily obviated. In a place
where there is no medical assistance or receptacles for the
diseased, it may be supposed numerous miserable objects would be met
with; this, however, is not the case. In walking about the town, I
did not remark a larger proportion of these unfortunate beings than
is generally to be met with in most of our own settlements in India.
Exclusive of fevers, dysentery, and their consequences, such as
dropsy, obstruction, &c., no other disease appeared to be frequent
except venereal, under which, in all its stages and forms, a very
great number of persons laboured. Their fevers are often of the
remittent form, but more frequently of the intermittent kind; and in
addition to the consequences already noticed to follow them,
sometimes terminate in an unusual weakness and pains over the body,
particularly of the lower extremities, which cause sometimes a total
loss of power.[131] I am unable with certainty to determine the
cause of this; perhaps it may arise from their sleeping on wet or
damp ground while confined with these disorders.
The small-pox,—that scourge of the human race,—also often visits the
natives of Zanzibar. We were told that about two years ago it made
dreadful ravages all over the island: 15,000 (Note 27) are said to
have perished in the town alone. This intelligence led me to hope
they would receive with avidity any proposal to secure them from the
effects of so dreadful a visitation. Though the vaccine matter
brought from Bombay was now nearly eleven weeks old, and I
consequently had great doubts of its power, I was resolved to let
slip no opportunity of trying to introduce it among them. I
therefore proposed it to the Hakim at our first interview, confident
that it would be eagerly solicited by those who had children and
young slaves belonging to them. In this, however, I was much
disappointed; for though their interest and the safety of their
offspring were at stake, I had the mortification to find their
prejudices stronger than the sense of either, and it was with the
utmost difficulty I could procure leave to try it on two children.
They were inoculated twice over, without being able to produce the
disease; but I had no great reason to regret my failure, for I
afterwards heard that the French, who, on purchasing young slaves,
always vaccinate them, had often introduced it among the
inhabitants, but that it had been found impossible to propagate it.
Is not this astonishing, that a people with whom self-interest is a
stronger passion than any other, should be under the influence of
motives which cause them to act in direct opposition to it? One
person—he who had allowed me to inoculate his children—acknowledged
he himself had lost no less than thirty young slaves during the late
prevalence of the disease. Perhaps the indifference they show at the
proposal of a preventative remedy arises from a want of faith in its
efficacy.
We now began to think of setting out on our return along the coast
to Mocha; the wind had begun to set in steady from the S.W., and our
consort, the Sylph, which it had been deemed advisable to convert
into a brig, being ready to return to Bombay, whither we had orders
to send her, we were about to depart, when a circumstance occurred
which for some time delayed it.
The Surat merchants, who had often complained of the Hakim’s
treatment, represented that he had demanded 3500 crowns from them as
their proportion of the tribute exacted by the Imam of Muscat, and
in failure of payment had threatened them with imprisonment. As
these people were trading under the English flag, and were, in fact,
British subjects, Captain Smee did not conceive that a foreign
prince had any right to tax them, especially as they had already
paid the customary port dues. Impressed with these sentiments, he
made a representation to the Hakim, who in consequence withdrew his
claims, but privately threatened the merchants with a double
imposition after our departure.
To prevent this, it was determined to leave the Sylph to countenance
them during their stay, and convoy them across to India at the
breaking up of the rainy season. While the Hakim, who had been
extremely inimical to us during our stay, and always anxious for us
to be gone, informed us he was coming to return our visit; this he
had on various pretences heretofore delayed; however, on Sunday, the
7th April, he came on board, when both ships dressed and saluted
him, and he was, notwithstanding his ill-behaviour, treated with the
greatest attention.
On Tuesday, the 9th, we weighed and sailed from Zanzibar, and in the
evening came to anchor under the small Island of Timbat, at the
north end of the island. On the morning of this day Henry Golding, a
stout, healthy seaman, was found dead between decks: he had no known
complaint at the time, and his death was supposed to have been
caused by suffocation, as it was understood he went to sleep very
much intoxicated. Having interred him on Frenchman’s Island, the
watering boat returned on board, and reported they had found the
body of a young female recently murdered, lying among the bushes at
the freshwater stream; as they had no means of interesting the
neighbours in her fate, they buried her immediately. On Wednesday,
the 10th, we got under weigh, and passing between Pemba and the
mainland, where there is a fine broad channel, we, without anything
further remarkable occurring, anchored in Mocha Roads on the 26th
April, 1811.
RESUMÉ.
I fell in with the coast of Africa in lat. 9° 30′ N. on the 25th
January, and from hence southward examined it as well as
circumstances would permit. On the 7th February I anchored in Patta
Harbour, and unfortunately found the country distracted by civil
dissensions, originating from two rival cousins, who each laid claim
to the Sooltanship. I found out the most popular, which happened to
be the youngest, and on him I waited with my government letters,
accompanied by Lieut. Hardy commanding the Sylph, and Mr Whigham, my
surgeon. I must have been three or four hours reaching town, and
after as long a detention there, and receiving some menacing
insults, which will be particularly detailed on my return, I escaped
from these wretches and reached the ship, much fatigued, some time
after midnight, having been six hours in the boat returning. Finding
the disposition of the natives precluded the success of any
inquiries I had to make, it was deemed advisable to quit the port;
but another difficulty arose, which points out the cunning treachery
of these people: we were now told the vessel could not go out
through the S.W. Channel (the only condition on which I entered the
harbour), but must warp out the way we came in (a thing impossible
against the prevailing wind and sea), or that we must wait the
change of monsoon. Detecting their duplicity, I seized and detained
two natives, who were concerned in bringing us in, and after two or
three days spent in buoying off a channel unknown to them, with the
top of high-water spring tides, grounding occasionally, we got the
vessel providentially through the banks, and clear of Patta reefs,
and then discharged the natives. Hence we proceeded southward along
the coast, and on the 24th of February anchored in this fine
harbour.
I waited on the Hakim and was kindly received; but the general
conduct of this personage has since proved very unaccommodating. I
was desirous during my stay here of procuring a house for the
purpose of receiving the visits of the well-disposed, and
unsuccessfully applied to the Hakim for one, or the use of a French
factory for a few days. I am told he forbid any one to furnish me,
and has used every endeavour to keep visitors away from the ship. He
is a person warmly in the French interest, and derives great
pecuniary advantages from the trade to this port. The welcome news
of the capture of the Isle of France was brought here by the Surat
vessels, which arrived in the middle of March. The Hakim would not
credit the account, until it was confirmed by a ship from Muscat a
few days ago.
The sum of the information I have been able to collect along the
East Coast of Africa and at this port, is, I am sorry to say, very
small. The first object of my search was the Doara river, which I
was not fortunate enough to fall in with, from the strength of the
prevailing winds and currents; if it exists it is doubtless a very
small stream. Magadosho, in lat. 2° 3′ N., I could only ascertain
the situation of: drifted past this. I hoped to see the town of
Marca, but was disappointed. I have been informed that it is a very
small village, less than Magadosho or Brava; that it has little or
no trade. I arrived off the port of Brava, in lat. 1° 10′ N. under
the same impediments—a high wind and sea, and strong currents, but
expected to find shelter from the plan I had of its harbour;
however, in standing close in for the purpose of anchoring, I was
disappointed to find it was impossible to bring the vessels up
without imminent risk of parting and being driven on shore, which
compelled me to haul off. I then looked for the river mentioned in
my instructions, whose supposed situation was to be found in 5′ N.
lat., but I could find no entrance whatever in that parallel. The
wind moderating on the line, I anchored the vessels on the eve of
the 3rd of February, with a view of exploring the river called Dos
Fuegos, and rendered into English by the late Capt. Bisset, ‘Rogues
River.’ During the night the Sylph parted her cable, and was driven
past this entrance, whose situation I could only geographically
ascertain. The town of Juba and the bar were distinctly seen in
passing from hence to Patta. The coast is fortified by a chain of
islands, mostly connected by reefs. Our transactions and inquiries
at the latter port were checked by the unfriendly disposition of the
natives. After clearing Patta, we proceeded southward along the
coast,—ascertaining it, also the two points of Formosa Bay, the
Leopard’s Shoal, and the mosque near it, with Quiliffa River, the
town and harbour of Mombas, the islands of Pemba (or Gedree)[132]
according to the Arabs, and Zanzibar, and the site of the coast
between these places.
My study has been to cultivate the friendship of all ranks, with a
view of gaining information on the points government have instructed
me; and the result of my labours amounts to the following, the
accuracy of which, as far as I can judge, there is no reason to
doubt. The fate of our countrymen, Park, Hornemann, and their
companions, was my first and most anxious inquiry, both at Patta and
this place, but I have not succeeded in meeting with any person who
has the least knowledge of them, and there is every reason to
suppose their fate is entirely unknown on this coast.
The town of Magadosho (Note 28) is not very considerable; it may
contain 150 or 200 houses, and from its mosques is very conspicuous
from seaward. It has not any river near it,[133] and has but little
trade, probably on account of the badness of its port, which only
affords shelter for boats within a reef fronting the town. The town
of Marca (Note 29) is small and has no safe anchorage off it.
Brava town (Note 30) is composed of about 100 huts, and is as
defective in its port as Magadosho. They are severally governed by
Soomallie chiefs. The mouth of Rogues River, called Govinda by the
Soomallies, Joob (Gibb) by the Arabs, and Foombo by the Souallies,
in lat. 0° 13′ S., is a large and extensive river, but on account of
its shallow bar, boats can only enter it at high water; it has
scarcely any trade, but such as is carried on by a few country
boats, the natives on its banks being thieves inimical to all
strangers. The next principal river, called Oazee,[134] situated one
day’s journey south of the Isles of Patta and Lamoo, is also
extensive, without trade. Quiliffa, the next, in lat. 3° 26′ S., is
a large and deep fresh-water stream, with few inhabitants and no
trade. Foongaruy[135] river, off the N.W. end of Zanzibar Island, is
next; it is in about lat. 5° 45′ S. Leefeege[136] is another large
river opposite Moonfia Island; and there is also a considerable
stream off the port of Quiloa or Keelwa.[137] Along this extent of
coast are many minor streams, but not one seems to possess
advantages as places of mercantile resort, or the Arabs would, no
doubt, ere this have benefited by any trade they held out. The tides
flow up the larger streams one day’s journey from their mouths, and
it is confidently reported they all take their rise among the
mountains in Abyssinia.
Five or six coss, or about one day’s journey at the back of the
towns of Magadosho, Marca, and Brava, is situated a small stream
called the Doho;[138] it does not join the Govinda, being lost among
some hills before it reaches so far south. It appears to me to be
(from the accounts of the reporter, an intelligent Soomallie) a
branch of the Zeebee,[139] which he calls the Dawaha, where the Doho
joins. The other, and principal branch, he says, runs through
Africa, and disembogues on the coast of Adel, near Burburreea.[140]
The town of Gunnanee, on the right bank of the Govinda, is about
four weeks’ journey from Brava; its inhabitants are Soomallies, and
it is composed of about 300 huts. Surat cloths are taken to it from
the coast, and exchanged for slaves, elephants’ teeth, &c. There is
another considerable village called Leeween, on the left of the
Govinda, some distance inland from that stream, inhabited by negroes
of no professed religion. The Eesoomadoo Galla, a race of cannibals,
the Oombaney, Howwahsow, and Arrooseeya Galla tribes, intermixed
with Soomallies, inhabit the banks of the Dahawa, nearest the
sea-coast; they do not cultivate the ground, but subsist on meat,
milk, and herbs. The Guracha[141] Galla inhabit the interior south
of the line, and the Borran[142] Galla north of the line; their
language is nearly similar; they are represented to be cannibals and
cruel thieves. The inhabitants opposite Zanzibar are Wuddooa[143]
negroes, but there is reason to believe this part of the coast was
formerly inhabited by the Guracha Galla, or, as my instructions
style them, the Giagas.[144] The Soomallies inhabit the sea-coast
from the equator north round Cape Guardafui to Burburreea and
Zeylah; their possessions extend some distance inland. The
Souallies, on the contrary, are confined close to the sea-coast, and
inhabit that part of it from the line south to about Cape Delgado,
tribes of Caffres occasionally intervening, particularly to the
southward of Zanzibar. The various tribes of negroes brought to this
port for sale are too numerous to describe; the principal are the
Meeamaizees,[145] whose country, at three months’ distance, abounds
in elephants’ teeth, and some gold is found there.
The Muckwa,[146] whose country is two months’ journey distant from
the sea-coast.
The Meeyahoo[147] is fifty days’ journey off the Gooroo[148]—is
fifteen days inland.
The Dohai,[149] ten days from the coast, are cannibals.
The Meegeendoo[150] are situated one months’ journey from the
sea-port of Quiloa.
The Jiggua,[151] four days, and the Moozumbarree,[152] three days,
&c. The interior is represented as a most fertile country, abounding
in cattle and elephants.
I have not been able to gather any satisfactory information
regarding the River Zambesie, its course, the town of Sofala,
character of its natives, or description of the surrounding country.
The Christian States of Yufat and Shoa on the confines of Abyssinia,
with the large towns of Tombuctoo, Cashna, and Hoossayee, said to be
in the interior of Africa or Ethiopia, under the government of
Mussulman princes, together with the circumstances relative to the
triennial voyages of Solomon’s fleet, from the Eslantic[153] Gulf to
Ophir, are unknown to the inhabitants of this place; nor have I yet
met with one who could afford me any satisfactory accounts of the
River Niger, or Joliba, or the Nile of Soudan, or South Africa.
I have made lists of the Souallie, Soomallie, and Galla dialects,
and shall add such others as I may be able to collect.
The coast from Cape Guardafui to Magadosho is arid and sterile; not
a hut or a boat was to be seen, although the sea-shore abounds with
fish. From the latter place the land improves, and on the line it
becomes completely woody, and so continues far to the southward.
The trade of this coast is chiefly in the hands of the Arabs from
Muscat, Maculla, &c., and a few adventurers from Cutch and the coast
of Scinde. The principal imports at Zanzibar are Surat cloths, to
the amount of about 12 lacs of rupees annually, besides beads,
cotton, sugar, ghee, fish, dates, and grain, and about 200 candies
of iron bar, which is partly distributed for use along the coast.
English woollens are in no demand, consequently not imported. The
exports are slaves, elephants’ teeth, raw dammer,[154] rhinoceros’
hides and horns, cowries, wax, turtle shells, coir, cocoa-nuts, &c.
The duties collected here on merchandise are said to amount to about
one and a half lacs of dollars annually; but as imposition and
extortion are occasionally resorted to, they may be considerably
more. The Imaum of Muscat receives from hence a clear sum of 60,000
dollars, and yearly makes an additional levy on various pretexts.
The following is a list of trading vessels at Zanzibar at the end of
March, 1811. Two ships, two snows, three ketches, 21 dows, 15
buglas, four dingeys, 10 small boats of sizes, besides a variety of
country boats constantly arriving and departing, and two large boats
building. Some seasons upwards of 100 large dows, &c., have been
known to arrive at this port from Arabia and India, but its trade
appears on the decline, while that of the ports of Mombas and Lamoo
belonging to independent Arab chiefs is annually improving, although
as harbours they do not possess near the advantages that Zanzibar
does.
The dress of the people in general is a coloured wrapper round their
loins. The better sort have, in addition, a loose white cloth over
their shoulders, and round their body. The Arabs wear turbans, while
the Souallies, Soomallies, and negroes go bareheaded.
The port of Patta, in lat. 2° 8′ S., has little or no trade on
account of the intricacy of its harbours and the nefarious conduct
of its inhabitants. It would appear the Surat traders are subject to
much imposition and extortion at Zanzibar, as the Hakim, over and
above the usual duties of 5 per cent., seizes such part of their
cargoes as he fancies; and the maquedahs[155] of the three vessels
now here have declared to me that, in collecting the duties on Surat
goods imported, he is not guided by any invoice prices, but fixes a
valuation on them far below the prime cost from the hands of the
manufacturer; and as he (the Hakim) pays himself in kind, takes good
care to detain for his own use such articles as are most saleable at
the time, by which means the merchant pays on an average 15 per
cent., and sometimes more, beyond the established rates fixed by the
Imaum of Muscat.
(Signed) THOMAS SMEE, Commander.
On Board the H. C.’s ship Ternate,
Zanzibar Harbour, 6th April, 1811.
-----
Footnote 82:
Last good observation of barometer. Two thermometers (F.) used,
attached and detached.
Footnote 83:
According to Captain Guillain (ii. 344) the Arabs call it Ras
Mume. As regards the term Dolphin’s Nose, he observes: ‘Je dois
avouer qui l’analogie pourrait être plus saissisante et elle
accuse au moins beaucoup d’imagination chez eux qui l’ont
remarquée.’ He appears to ignore that Dolphin’s Nose is a
recognized term for a long thick, point seen en profil, and
understood by every English sailor.
Footnote 84:
Better written Darajah, meaning a step, a tier.
Footnote 85:
Abd el Khuri, ‘the slave of the (married) priest or secular
clergyman.’ The people of Socotra were once Christians all. Others
write the name Abd el Kari, or slave of the Koran reader.
Footnote 86:
On the Island of Abd el Khuri, only 20 leagues west of Socotra,
heavy showers begin with February and end with April. Modern
travellers declare that there is not a single stream except during
the rains, and that the well water is all more or less brackish.
Footnote 87:
Ras Hafun (not Jard Hafun), N. lat. 10° 26′ 8″ (Raper).
Footnote 88:
Ponta das Baixas, the Cape of Shoals, the point called by the
Arabs Ra’as Aswad (Black Head), in N. lat. 4° 32′.
Footnote 89:
They were approaching the Sayf Tawil or Long Shore, which extends
from Ra’as el Khayl (N. lat. 7° 46′ 30″) to Ra’as Awaz, the Cape
of Change, where the Highlands fall.
Footnote 90:
January being the height of the Mausim or Kaskazi, when the Azyab
or N. E. wind blows home.
Footnote 91:
The Highlands were Jebel el Hirab, the ‘Mountain of the Keel,’
because it appears like a huge dow upturned. It rises some 9 to 10
miles from the seaboard, and backs the Ponta das Baixas or Ra’as
Aswad.
Footnote 92:
Ra’as Aswad in N. lat. 4° 44′ 5″ (Raper).
Footnote 93:
Still generally written Doara. It is apparently a mere Nullah or
Fiumara, and is hardly mentioned by modern navigators. I can only
suggest that the name might have been derived from Daaro, a
district or tribe on the Upper Juba river, and the inveterate
confusion of the potamology in this part of Africa can alone
account for the error.
Footnote 94:
N. lat. 2° 2′ 18″ (Capt. Guillain).
Footnote 95:
Marka town, N. lat. 1° 44′ 1″, generally known as Bandar Marka.
Footnote 96:
Probably from Goba, the meeting (scil. of waters), Gobwen
(corrupted to Govind) meaning the great meeting. Ganana is
supposed to mean division or bifurcation. Danok is probably a
corruption of the Galla Danesha, a settlement on the left bank of
the river. I nowhere find my notice of the ‘Irunjba’ village, and
presume that it is a corruption of ‘Gobwen.’
Footnote 97:
This reef, beginning at Makdishu, much resembles the great
Brazilian formation, extending from Pernambuco southward.
Footnote 98:
The voyagers had now passed from the barren Somali Coast (Azania)
to rich Zanzibar, where the tropical rains extend.
Footnote 99:
The cause of the dryness was the immense evaporation which the
coolness of night deposited in the form of dew.
Footnote 100:
Mombasah.
Footnote 101:
The Bette of the Arabs.
Footnote 102:
This account of Patta is valuable: we hear little of the place
from later travellers.
Footnote 103:
Sarhang, or native boatswain.
Footnote 104:
Englishmen at the time were full of the fate of Mr Park, and they
knew little of Africa, who expected the people of Patta to have
heard of the Niger.
Footnote 105:
Probably meaning Abyssinia.
Footnote 106:
The Wasawahili, or coast tribes.
Footnote 107:
The Gallas or Ormas are negroids, not negroes. This will answer
Note 23, which compares the Gallas with the west coast ‘niggers.’
Footnote 108:
The mixture of blood is with the negro races of the interior,
driven down as slaves, and with the Arabs and Persians, whose
first emigration dates probably from prehistoric ages.
Footnote 109:
We can hardly give them a better character now.
Footnote 110:
During this run they passed the mouths of the Ozi Dana, Zana, or
Pokomoni, and of the Adi, Sabaki, or Sabbak, rivers.
Footnote 111:
Melinde Pillar is in S. lat. 3° 12′ 8″ (Raper).
Footnote 112:
Ra’as Gomany, N. point N. lat. 3° 0′ 0″ (Raper).
Footnote 113:
Kilefi Bay confounded with the mouth of the Adi, Sabaki, or Sabbak
river, which debouches a little north of Formosa Bay, in which
Melinde lies.
Footnote 114:
Possibly the Mtu Apa (Tuaca or Nash river), or the Takaungu
streamlet, farther north.
Footnote 115:
The Corôa de Mombaza on the mainland nearly due north (magnetic)
of the settlement.
Footnote 116:
Its extreme length is 42 geographical miles.
Footnote 117:
For leagues, read geographical miles.
Footnote 118:
Modern charts show no such reef, and the minimum of mid-channel is
15 fathoms.
Footnote 119:
They are about midway in the island’s length.
Footnote 120:
Champani, the ‘Ile des Français,’ or Cemetery Island.
Footnote 121:
The average rise is about 13 feet.
Footnote 122:
The Mto-ni.
Footnote 123:
The Mbuyu, baobab or calabash tree (Adansonia digitata).
Footnote 124:
Corrected to S. lat. 6° 9′ 6″ and E. long. 39° 14′ 5″.
Footnote 125:
A mistake in title, which I have explained at full length.
Footnote 126:
Of this Yakut (the ruby) many tales are still told.
Footnote 127:
The lucrative copal trade is not mentioned.
Footnote 128:
Every traveller down to my own time has remarked this abomination
at Zanzibar.
Footnote 129:
Farinha de páu, or wood-meal.
Footnote 130:
This is apparently derived from their Persian ancestry.
Footnote 131:
This is the paralysis from which I suffered in the African
interior.
Footnote 132:
Probably a corruption of the Jezirat (el Khazra), the Green Island
of the Arabs.
Footnote 133:
The author had forgotten, or rather he had not seen, the ‘Nile of
Magadoxo.’
Footnote 134:
The Ozi river, south of Patta.
Footnote 135:
The Panga-ni river, which the Arabs would pronounce Fanga-ni.
Footnote 136:
The Rufigi, Lufigi, or Lufiji.
Footnote 137:
A popular error. The nearest river south of Kilwa would be the
Lindi, a little known stream in S. lat. 10°.
Footnote 138:
This is the Nile of Magadoxo, which he has ignored.
Footnote 139:
Webbe in Somali means any stream.
Footnote 140:
The well-known settlement Berberah. The intelligent Somali
evidently believed that the Hawash river and the Nile of Magadoxo
are of the same origin.
Footnote 141:
Now generally written Kurachi or Kurachasi, as the Arrooseeya are
the Arusi tribe.
Footnote 142:
Or Boren.
Footnote 143:
The Wadoe tribe.
Footnote 144:
This is, indeed, a wild confusion.
Footnote 145:
The Wanyamwezi.
Footnote 146:
The Wamakua, near Kilwa.
Footnote 147:
The Wahiao, S.E. of the Nyassa Lake.
Footnote 148:
The Wanguru of Southern Unyamwezi, or of the eastern ghauts,
opposite Zanzibar. The text is here corrupt.
Footnote 149:
This appears to be a corruption of Wadoe, called in p. 510
Wuddooa.
Footnote 150:
The Wangindo tribe on the road from Kilwa to the Nyassa Lake.
Footnote 151:
The tribes of the Chaga Highland.
Footnote 152:
The hill-men of Usumbara.
Footnote 153:
Elanitic.
Footnote 154:
Possibly copal.
Footnote 155:
Nakhudas, native skippers.
NOTES TO APPENDIX III.
BY CAPT. SMEE AND LIEUT. HARDY.
Note 1 (p. 460). Socotra, or Socotora, so well known for the
production of the drug aloes, is in most charts, except Horsburgh’s,
laid down too far to the westward. It bears E. by N. of Cape
Guardafui 138 miles, the latter being in long 51° 13′ E., and the
western extremity of Socotra in long. 53° 26′ and lat. 12° 24′ N. It
has several good harbours and anchoring-places, the best of which is
said to be Tivee, on the N. E. side of the Island, where water is
easily procured. Between it and Cape Guardafui are situated the
Isles of Sumhaa and Duraga, or, as we name them, the Brothers and
Adulcasia, all of which are also placed too much to the westward in
the charts. The last-mentioned island is said to afford plenty of
excellent fresh water. It is inhabited by Arabs, who are subject to
the chief of Socotra. Socotra is governed by an Arab Sheik. The
produce of the island being insufficient to support the population,
the ports of Arabia furnish it with grain, &c., &c. I believe that
aloes, fish, and salt are the only articles it produces. The
inhabitants are chiefly Arabs.
Note 2 (p. 466). Since the 25th we had been steering along that part
of the African Continent known to the English by the name of
Agan.[156] It is in general a low even coast, and is justly
represented as desert and barren. In passing along it some natives
were seen tending a few cattle on the shore, but there is reason to
believe, from the apparent extreme infertility of the sand, that the
number of inhabitants can be but very small;[157] even the
sea-shore, where the abundance of fish would render the means of
subsistence so easy to be attained, seemed totally neglected; not a
hut or boat of any kind was to be seen throughout its whole extent—a
strong proof of the thinness of the population, and of the country
near the coast being destitute of the material requisite for
constructing these necessaries. The few inhabitants probably belong
to the Saumalie tribe, whose limits of residence are said to extend
to the line. We did not remark any inlets or traces of rivers on
this coast.
Note 3 (p. 467). A little north of Cape Bassas is a hill, or long
ridge, of an uncommon red colour, and along the land from it to the
Cape itself are a number of white sand hillocks which form excellent
marks to vessels approaching it from the northward and eastward.
Note 4 (p. 468). From the information afterwards received the Doara
seems to be an inconsiderable stream.
Note 5 (p. 470). We afterwards discovered these to be really
islands, and the commencement of the chain which extends beyond
Patta.
Note 6 (p. 471). The opinion upon which the existence of this
supposed river rests[158] is founded on certain accounts transmitted
some time ago to the Governor of Bombay by the late Captain David
Seton, the Company’s resident at Muscat. This communication states
the information to have been obtained from some people of
respectability in that place, who were well acquainted with the part
of the African coast in question. The substance of this detail is as
follows:—‘That a river of immense extent, known to the natives in
its neighbourhood by the appellation of the Neelo (Nilo), and said
to have its source in common with the Egyptian river of that name,
discharges itself in the Indian Ocean, in about 0° 5′ N. lat.; near
to its mouth it is called Govind Khala. That the length of its
course is about three months’ journey; and nine weeks’ journey from
the mouth stands a large city named Gunamma,[159] up to which, the
river being navigable, immense quantities of slaves, elephants’
teeth, &c., are brought down within a short distance of Brava, to
which (the river then taking a more southerly direction) these
articles of merchandise are afterwards carried overland, and either
disposed of there, or sent to Zanzibar.’ This story, though
sufficiently plausible, would of itself, considering the known
credulity and extreme propensity to exaggeration prevalent among the
natives of the East, be entitled to very little regard did it not
happen to receive some countenance from Herodotus, the Grecian
historian, who says that when in Egypt he was told that a branch of
the Nile bearing the same name took an easterly course, and was
supposed to fall into the Indian Ocean, somewhere on the coast of
East Africa.[160] These taken together were strong, but still left
ample room to believe that the river called by the Portuguese Dos
Fuegos, and known to us by the name of the Rogues River, which
disembogues itself in 0° 17′ S. lat., might eventually turn out to
be the same with this African Nile,[161]—22 miles the difference
between their supposed mouths, being an error which people such as
those of Muscat, unaccustomed to make accurate observations, may
easily be supposed to fall into. It may here be seen that the truth
of this surmise respecting the identity of the two rivers has been
clearly established, though it will hereafter appear, from the
information received at Patta, that the source of this river, viz.
Dos Fuegos, will still be found to agree with and authenticate the
reports and conjectures derived from the above authority,—and at all
events cannot fail to render it an object of interest and curiosity
to the civilized world in general.
Note 7 (p. 474). Or rather to the island on which Patta and Sieull
stand, called Peer Patta.
Note 8 (p. 474). This town is by the natives called Humoo.
Note 9 (p. 476). Amounting in value to better than Rs 300.
Note 10 (p. 479). His cousin was at this moment held in confinement
in a dungeon close to the residence of this cruel and usurping
relation, for it seems Ben Baneeci had a prior claim to the
Sultanship.
Note 11 (p. 481). The people of Patta (besides their civil
dissensions) were at this time at war with Lamo, an island a few
miles to the southward, whose boats were continually on the look-out
to attack those of Patta. The Sooltan made this also a motive for
detaining us under the pretence of preparing an armed boat to
conduct us back to the ship; but we saw through his civility, and
evaded it by telling him we had arms, and could defend ourselves.
Patta has no trade at present; it used formerly to be resorted to
for cowries (a small shell current as money in Bengal), but of late
years this trade has been discontinued.
Note 12 (p. 484). Within this bay on the S.W. side stood the ancient
city of Melinda, the site of which, in crossing the mouth of the
bay, we were at too great a distance to see.
Note 13 (p. 485). These must, therefore, have been the rocks
mentioned by Captain Bissel in his memoir on which the Leopard,
Admiral Blankett’s flag-ship, struck (Feb. 15, 1799, on a voyage to
the Red Sea), when bearing up to Zanzibar after a fruitless attempt
to beat up this coast during the N.E. monsoon. The mosque, however,
or pagoda, as he calls it, is by no means a good sea-mark, as no
ship ought to go so close as to make it sufficiently conspicuous. A
much better are two hills to the N.W.; they are considerably higher
than any near them, and, in consequence, easily known. The two hills
are close together, and only partially divided by a shallow notch
resembling a woman’s breast in form.
Note 14 (p. 486). The River Quiliffa is in S. lat. 3° 26′, and in
long. (by means of several good observations) 39° 26′ E.
Note 15 (p. 488). The Expedition sailed from Bombay on the 2nd
January, 1811.
Note 16 (p. 488). There is also a group at the east end of the
island.
Note 17 (p. 489). The only one of this group of islands that has no
wood on it.
Note 18 (p. 491). This tree is by the natives of Hindostan called
Brosh, and bears a large oval fruit with a smooth skin, but neither
it nor the wood of the tree is of any use. (Editor’s note: the best
is now worth £14 to £15 per ton.)
Note 19 (p. 491). Variation 8° W.
Note 20 (p. 493). Cocoa-nuts (of which the island produces vast
quantities) are also exported to Malabar, and also wax and
tortoise-shell.
Note 21 (p. 493). Dried salted shark and other fish, and ghee, are
brought in considerable quantities from Socotra; likewise chinaware,
earthen jars, and toys and ornaments from Surat.
Note 22 (p. 496). I do not give this as information to be depended
on.
Note 23 (p. 497). The Galla are in their persons exactly similar to
the west-coast negroes.
Note 24 (p. 499). The sugar-cane grows in great plenty, but the
inhabitants are ignorant of the art of making sugar.
Note 25 (p. 500). Monkeys are also found on the island, with foxes
and wild hogs, &c.
Note 26 (p. 500). Rice and ghee can be procured in considerable
quantities, but it will be found expensive for strangers to provide
any great supply of those articles.
Note 27 (p. 502). This, I think, must be an error. Five thousand is
more probable,—the person who gave me the information being rather
given to exaggeration.
Note 28 (p. 508). No revenue collected by the Imaum.
Note 29 (p. 508). Ibid.
Note 30 (p. 508). Camels numerous, at about 5 dollars each.
THE END.
------------------------------------
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
Place names are often spelled differently, usually by employing (or
not) a hyphen. Where there is no other instance of a given variant,
the other more common version is adopted; otherwise, the spelling
stands here as printed.
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected,
and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the
original.
8.1 the tall tower of Fort Chak-[c/C]hak Replaced.
32.3 called by contemporary historians, ‘Zimbas[’]: Inserted.
62.19 [(]This appears to be Added.
86.8 and the dead[’], Added.
105.94 the Jongolia[-]ni promontory. Inserted.
142.27 turned into a verb, e.g. ‘ba-yatafaggazú[’], Inserted.
146.12 used as kilts [(]Mkifu) by the Wamasai Inserted.
168.23 from geograp[h]ical work Inserted.
183.5 wird zum Besten der Menschheit.[’] Removed.
277.4 des pièces de mâture[’] Added.
344.26 without cramp[ s/s ]or convulsions Shifted
space.
356.3 or fish w[ie/ei]rs Transposed.
370.23 Eastern Intertropical Africa[.] Restored.
373.20 with a deta[t]chment to capture a gun Removed.
415.17 and hippo[po]tamus’ teeth Inserted.
450.38 at [6 ]p.m., 85°. Added.
455.17 [52/25] Temperature of air at sunrise Transposed.
469.16 taken at 8 P.M. 60° 55[″/′]. Replaced.
476.16 carrying with[ with] us a present Removed.
481.22 No fruit except the co[o]coa-nut Removed.
494.27 They are in general pur[s/c]hased Replaced.
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