 CHAPTER 7. PART 4. MARENGE MACKALLI, YUGOGO, AND YU YANZI, TO UNYAN YENBE At noon we resumed our march, the Wanyamwezi cheering, shouting, and singing, the Wengwana soldiers, servants, and Pagazis vying with them in volume of voice and noise-making, the dim forest through which we were now passing, resonant with their voices. The scenery was much more picturesque than any we had yet seen since leaving Bagamoyo. The ground rose into grander waves, hills cropped out here and there, great castles of cyanide appeared, giving a strange and weird appearance to the forest. From a distance it would almost seem as if we were approaching a bit of England as it must have appeared during feudalism. The rocks assumed such strange, fantastic shapes. Now they were round boulders raised one above another, apparently susceptible to every breath of wind. Anon they towered like blunt-pointed obelisks, taller than the tallest trees. Again they assumed the shape of mighty waves, vitrified. Here they were a small heap of fractured and riven rock. Here they rose to the grandeur of hills. By five p.m. we had traveled twenty miles, and the signal was sounded for a halt. At one a.m. the moon being up, Hamad's horn and voice were heard throughout the silent camp, awakening his Pagazis for the march. Evidently Sheikh Hamad was gone stark mad, otherwise why should he be so frantic for the march at such an early hour? The dew was falling heavily and chilled one like a frost, and an ominous murmur of deep discontent responded to the early call on all sides. Presuming, however, that he had obtained better information than we had, Sheikh Thani and I resolved to be governed as the events proved him to be right or wrong. As all were discontented this night, march was performed in a deep silence. The thermometer was at fifty-three degrees, we being about forty-five hundred feet above the level of the sea. The Pagazis, almost naked, walked quickly in order to keep warm, and by doing so many a sore foot was made by stumbling against obtrusive roots and rocks, and treading on thorns. At three a.m. we arrived in the village of Unyambogi, where we threw ourselves down to rest and sleep until dawn should reveal what else was in store for the hard dealt with caravans. It was broad daylight when I awoke, the sun was flaring his hot beams in my face. Sheikh Thani came soon after to inform me that Hamad had gone to Qidi two hours But he, when asked to accompany him, positively refused, exclaiming against it as folly and utterly unnecessary. When my advice was asked by Thani I voted the whole thing as sheer nonsense, and in turn asked him what a terraqueza was for. Was it not an afternoon march enough to enable caravans to reach water and food? Thani replied that it was. I then asked him if there was no water or food to be obtained in Unyambogi. Thani replied that he had not taken pains to inquire, but was told by the villagers that there was an abundance of matamiya, hindi, mawari, sheep, goats, and chickens in their village at cheap prices, such as were not known in Yugogo. Well then, said I, if Hamad wants to be a fool and kill his baghazis, why should we? I have as much cause for haste as Sheikh Hamad, but Unyanyembe is far yet, and I am not going to endanger my property by playing the madman. As Thani had reported we found an abundance of provisions at the village and good sweet water from some pits close by. A sheep cost one chukka, six chickens were also purchased at that price, six measures of matama, mawari, or hindi were procurable for the same sum. In short we were coming at last into the land of plenty. On the tenth June we arrived at Keeti after a journey of four hours and a half, where we found the irrepressible Hamad halted in sore trouble. He who would be a Caesar proved to be an irresolute Anthony. He had to sorrow over the death of a favourite slave girl, the loss of five dishdashes, Arab shirts, silvered sleeve, and gold embroidered jackets, with which he had thought to enter Unyanyembe in state, as became a merchant of his standing, which had disappeared with three absconding servants, besides copper trays, rice and pilau dishes, and two bales of cloth with runaway wangwani baghazis. The lean, my Arab servant, asked him, What are you doing here, Sheikh Hamad? I thought you were well on the road to Unyanyembe. Said he, Could I leave Thani, my friend, behind? Keeti abounded in cattle and grain, and we were able to obtain food at easy rates. Though a Kimbu, emigrants from Yukimbu, near Uroori, are a quiet race, preferring the peaceful arts of agriculture to war, of tending their flocks to conquest. At the least rumour of war they removed their property and family, and emigrate to the distant wilderness, where they begin to clear the land and to hunt the elephant for his ivory. Yet we found them to be a fine race, and well-armed, and seemingly capable by their numbers and arms to compete with any tribe. But here, as elsewhere, disunion makes them weak. They are mere small colonies, each colony ruled by its own chief, whereas, were they united, they might make a very respectable front before an enemy. Our next destination was Masalalo, a distant fifteen miles from Keeti. Hamad, after vainly searching for his runaways and the valuable property he had lost, followed us, and tried once more, when he saw us encamped at Masalalo, to pass us. But his Pagazis failed him, the march having been so long. Weld Nagarezo was reached on the fifteenth, after three-and-a-half hours' march. It is a flourishing place, where provisions were almost twice as cheap as they were in Unyanbogi. Two hours' march south is Jawel La Mokoa, on the old road, towards which the road which we have been traveling since leaving Bagamoyo was now rapidly leading. Unyanyembe being near, the Pagazis and soldiers having behaved excellently during the lengthy marches we had lately made, I purchased a bullet for three Doty, and had it slaughtered for their special benefit. I also gave each a kit of red beads to indulge his appetite for whatever little luxury the country afforded. Milk and honey were plentiful, and three fasala of sweet potatoes were bought for a shuka, equal to about forty cents of our money. The thirteenth of June brought us to the last village of Magandamakali, in the district of Jualasinga, after a short march of eight miles and three-quarters. Kasuri, so-called by the Arabs, is called Kansuli by the Wukimbu who inhabit it. This is, however, but one instance out of many where the Arabs have misnamed or corrupted the native names of villages and districts. Between Nagarezo and Kasuri we passed the village of Kururumo, now a thriving place, with many a thriving village near it. As we passed it the people came out to greet the Masungu, whose advent had been so long heralded by his loud-mouthed caravans, and whose soldiers had helped them win the day in a battle against their fractious brothers of Jihwala Makoa. A little further on we came across a large combi occupied by a Sultan bin Muhammad, an Omani Arab of high descent, who, as soon as he was notified of my approach, came out to welcome me and invited me to his combi. As his harem lodged in his tent, of course I was not invited thither, but a carpet outside was ready for his visitor. After the usual questions had been asked about my health, the news of the road, the latest from Zanzibar and Oman, he asked me if I had much cloth with me. This was a question often asked by owners of downed caravans, and the reason of it is that the Arabs, in their anxiety to make as much as possible of their cloth at the ivory ports on the Tanganika and elsewhere, are liable to forget that they should retrain a portion for the downed marches. As indeed I had but a bale left of the quantity of cloth retained for provisioning my party on the road, when outfitting my caravans on the coast I could unblushingly reply in the negative. I halted a day at Kasuri to give my caravan a rest, after its long series of marches, before venturing on the two days' march through the uninhabited wilderness that separates the district of Jualasinga Yuyusa from the district of Tura in Unyanyembe. Hamad proceeded, promising to give Said Bensaleem notice of my coming, and to request him to provide a tembe for me. From the fifteenth, having ascertained that Sheikh Thani would be detained several days at Kasuri, owing to the excessive number of his people who were laid up with that dreadful plague of East Africa, the smallpox, I bade him farewell, and my caravan struck out of Kasuri once more for the wilderness and the jungle. A little before noon we halted at the combi of Magongo Tembo, or the elephant's back, so-called from a wave of rock whose back, stained into dark brownness by atmospheric influences, is supposed by the natives to resemble the blue-brown back of this monster of the forest. My caravan had quite an argument with me here as to whether we should make the terraquesa on this day or on the next. The majority was of the opinion that the next day would be the best for a terraquesa, but I, being the Banna, consulting my own interests, insisted, not without a flourish or two of my whip, that the terraquesa should be made on this day. Magongo Tembo, when Burton and Speek passed by, was a promising settlement, cultivating many a fair acre of ground. But two years ago war broke out, for some bold act of its people upon caravans, and the Arabs came from Unyanyembe with their Wengwana servants, attacked them, burnt the villages, and laid waste the work of years. Since that time Magongo Tembo has been but blackened wrecks of houses and the fields a sprouting jungle. A cluster of date palms overtopping a dense grove close to the matani of Magongo Tembo revived my recollections of Egypt. The banks of the stream, with their verdant foliage, presented a strange contrast to the brown and dry appearance of the jungle which lay on either side. At one p.m. we resumed our loads and walking-stabs, and in a short time were on route for the Nuala Matoni, distant eight and three-quarters miles from the Kambi. As the sun was hot, like a globe of living, seething flame, it flared its heat full on our heads, then, as it descended towards the west, scorched the air before it was inhaled by the lungs which craved it. Gordes of water were emptied speedily to quench the fierce heat that burned the throat and lungs. One Pagazi, stricken heavily with the small pops, succumbed, and threw himself down on the roadside to die. We never saw him afterwards, for the progress of a caravan on a terraqueza is something like that of a ship in a hurricane. The caravan must proceed, woe befall him who lags behind, for hunger and thirst will overtake him, so must a ship drive before the fierce gale to escape foundering, woe befall him who falls overboard. An abundance of water, good, sweet and cool, was found in the bed of the Matoni in deep, stony reservoirs. Here also the traces of furious torrents were clearly visible, as at Mungunguru. The Anguala commences in Ubanurama to the north, a country famous for its fine breed of donkeys, and after running south, south, southwest, crosses the Unyanyanbe road, from which point it has more of a westerly turn. On the sixteenth we arrived at Maradita, so called from a village which was, but is now no more. Maradita is twelve and a half miles from the Anguala Matoni. A pool of good water a few hundred yards from the roadside is the only supply caravans can obtain nearer than Tura and Unyanwezi. The tzitzi, or chafua fly, as called by the Waswahili, stung thus dreadfully, which is a sign that large game visit the pool sometimes, but must not be mistaken for an indication that there is any in the immediate neighborhood of the water. A single pool so frequented by passing caravans, which must of necessity halt here, could not be often visited by the animals of the forest, who are shy in this part of Africa of the haunts of men. At dawn the next day we were on the road striding at a quicker pace than on most days, since we were about to quit Magundimali for the more populated and better land of Unyanwezi. The forest held its own for a weary some long time, but at the end of two hours it thinned, then dwarfed into a low jungle, and finally vanished altogether, and we had arrived on the soil of Unyanwezi. With a broad plain, swelling, subsiding and receding in lengthy and grand undulations in our front, to one indefinite horizon line, which purpled in the far existence. The few consisted of fields of grain ripening, which followed the contour of the plain, and which wrestled merrily before the morning breeze that came laden with the chills of Usagara. At eight a.m. we had arrived at the frontier village of Unyanwezi, eastern Tura, which we invaded without any regard to the disposition of the few inhabitants who lived there. Here we found Nando, a runaway of Speaks, one of those who had sided with Baraka against Bombay, who, desiring to engage himself with me, was engaging enough to furnish honey and sherbet to his former companions, and lastly to the Pagazis. It was only a short breathing pause we made here, having another hour's march to reach central Tura. The road from eastern Tura led through vast fields of millet, Indian corn, hulkas sorghum, Muwari, or panicum, or bhajri, as called by Arabs, gardens of sweet potatoes, large tracts of cucumbers, watermelons, mushmelons, and peanuts which grew in the deep furrows between the ridges of the hulkas. Some broad-leafed plantain plants were also seen in the neighborhood of the villages, which, as we advanced, became very numerous. The villages of the Wakimbu are like those of the Ogogo. Square, flat-roofed, enclosing an open area, which is sometimes divided into three or four parts by fences, or Matamastath. At central Tura, where we encamped, we had evidence enough of the rescality of the Wakimbu of Tura. Hamad, who, despite his efforts to reach Unyanyembe in time to sell his cloths before other Arabs came with cloth supplies, was unable to compel his Pagazis to the double march every day, was also encamped at central Tura. There were the Arab servants who preferred Hamad's imbecile haste to Thani's cautious advance. Our first night in Unyanyemwezi was very exciting indeed. The Masungu's camp was visited by two crawling thieves, but they were soon made aware by the portentous click of a trigger that the white man's camp was well guarded. Hamad's camp was next visited, but here also the restlessness of the owner frustrated their attempts, for he was pacing backwards and forwards through his camp, with a loaded gun in his hand, and the thieves were obliged to relinquish the chance of stealing any of his bales. From Hamad's they proceeded to Hassan's camp, one of the Arab servants, where they were successful enough to reach and lay hold of a couple of bales, but unfortunately they made a noise which awoke the vigilant and quick-eared slave, who snatched his loaded musket, and in a moment had shot one of them through the heart. Such were our experiences of the Wakimbu of Tura. On the eighteenth of three caravans, Hamad's, Hassan's, and my own, left Tura by a road which zigzagged towards all points through the Tomatama fields. In an hour's time we had passed Tura Paro, or Western Tura, and had entered the forest again, once the Wakimbu of Tura obtained their honey, and where they excavate deep traps for the elephants with which the forest is said to abound. An hour's march from Western Tura brought us to Aziwa, or Pahn. Aziwa, too, situated in the midst of a small open mabuga, or plain, which, even at this late season, was yet soft from the water which overflows it during the rainy season. After resting three hours we started on the Terakeza, or afternoon march. It was one in the same forest that we had entered soon after leaving Western Tura that we traveled through until we reached the Kuala Matoni, or as Burton has misnamed it on his map, Kuala. The water of this Matoni is contained in large ponds, or deep depressions in the wide and crooked gully of Kuala. In these ponds a species of mudfish was found, of one of which I made a meal, by no means to be despised by one who had not tasted fish since leaving Bagamoyo. Probably if I had my choice, being, when occasion demands it, rather fastidious in my tastes, I would not select the mudfish. From Tura to the Kuala Matoni is seventeen and a half miles, a distance which, however easy it may be traversed once a fortnight, assumes a prodigious length when one has to travel it almost every other day. At least so my Pagazis, soldiers, and followers found it, and their murmurs were loud when I ordered the signal to be sounded on the march. Abdul Qadir, the tailor who had attached himself to me, as a man ready-handed at all things, from mending a pair of pants, making a delicate entremot, or suiting an elephant, but whom the interior proved to be the weakest of the weekly, unfit for anything except eating and drinking, almost succumbed on this march. Long ago the little stock of goods which Abdul had brought from Zanzibar folded in a pocket handkerchief, and with which he was about to buy ivory and slaves, and make his fortune in the famed land of Unyamwezi, had disappeared with the great eminent hopes he had built on them, like those of Al-Nashar, the unfortunate owner of crockery in the Arabian tale. He came to me as we prepared for the march, with a most delurious tale about his approaching death, which he felt in his bones and weary back. His legs would barely hold him up. In short he had utterly collapsed. Would I take mercy on him and let him depart? The cause of this extraordinary request, so unlike the spirit with which he had left Zanzibar, eager to possess the ivory and slaves of Unyamwezi, was that, on the long, last march, two of my donkeys being dead, I had ordered that the two saddles which they had carried should be Abdul Qadir's load to Unyamwezi. The weight of the saddles was sixteen pounds, as the spring balance scale indicated, yet Abdul Qadir became weary of life, as he counted the long marches that intervened between the matoni and the Unyamwezi. On the ground he fell prone, to kiss my feet, begging me in the name of God to permit him to depart. As I had some experience of Hindus, Malabaris and Kulis in Abyssinia, I knew exactly how to deal with a case like this. Unhesitatingly I granted the request as soon as asked, for as much tired as Abdul Qadir said he was of life, I was with Abdul Qadir's worthlessness. But the Hindi did not want to be left in the jungle, he said, but after arriving in Unyamwezi. Oh, said I, then you must reach Unyamwezi first. In the meanwhile you will carry those saddles there for the food which you must eat. As the march to Rabugha was eighteen and three-quarters miles, the Pagazis walked fast and long without resting. Rabugha, in the days of Burton, according to his book, was a prosperous district. Even when we passed, the evidences of wealth and prosperity which it possessed formerly were plain enough in the wide extent of its grain fields, which stretched to the right and left the Unyamwe road for many a mile. But they were the only evidences of what once were numerous villages, a well-cultivated and populous district, rich in herds of cattle and stores of grain. All the villages are burnt down, the people have been driven north three or four days from Rabugha, the cattle were taken by force, the grain fields were left standing to be overgrown with jungle and rank weeds. We passed village after village that had been burnt, and were mere blackened heaps of charred timber and smoked clay. Field after field of ripe grain years ago was yet standing in the midst of a crop of gums and thorns, mimosa and coke-wall. We arrived at the village occupied by about sixty Wangwana who have settled here to make a living by buying and selling ivory. Food is provided for them in the deserted fields of the people of Rabugha. We were very tired and heated from the long march, but the Pagazis had all arrived by three p.m. At the Wangwana village we met Amir Ben Sultan, the very type of old Arab shake, such as we read of in books, with a snowy beard and a clean, reverent face, who was returning to Zanzibar after a ten years' residence in Unanyembe. He presented me with a goat and a goatskin full of rice, a most acceptable gift in a place where a goat cost five cloths. After a day's halt at Rabugha, during which I dispatched two soldiers to notify Sheikh Said Ben Saleem and Sheikh Ben Nasid, the two chief dignitaries of Unanyembe of my coming, on the twenty-first of June we resumed the march for Kigwa, distant five hours. The road ran through another forest similar to that which separated Tura from Rabugha, the country rapidly sloping as we proceeded westward. Kigwa we found to have been visited by the same vengeance which rendered Rabugha such a waste. The next day, after three and a half hours' rapid march, we crossed the Matoni, which was an O-Matoni, separating Kigwa from the Unanyembe district, and after a short halt to quench our thirst, in three and a half hours' more arrived at Shiza. It was a most delightful march, though a long one, for its pisterousness of scenery which every few minutes was revealed, and the proofs everywhere we saw of the peaceful and industrious disposition of the people. A short hour and a half from Shiza we beheld the undulating plain wherein the Arabs have chosen to situate the central depot which command such a wide and extensive field of trade. The lowing of cattle and the bleeding of the goats and sheep were everywhere heard, giving the country a happy, pastoral aspect. The Sultan of Shiza desired me to celebrate my arrival in Unanyembe with a five-gallon jar of Pambi which he brought for that purpose. As the Pambi was but stale ale and taste and milk and water and color, after drinking a small glassful I passed it to the delighted soldiers and Pagazis. At my request the Sultan brought a fine, fat bullock, for which he accepted four and a half dhoti of marikani. The bullock was immediately slaughtered and served out of the caravan as a farewell feast. No one slept much that night, and long before the dawn the fires were lit and great steaks were broiling, that their stomachs might rejoice before parting with the misungu, whose bounty they had so often tasted. Six rounds of powder were served to each soldier and Pagazi who owned again, to fire away when we should be near the Arab houses. The meanest Pagazi had his best cloth about his loins, and some were exceedingly brave in gorgeous Ulya, Kambiza, Pagonga, and Crimson Jawa, the Glossy Rahani, and the neat Dubwani. The soldiers were mustered in new tarbushes and the long white shirts of the marima and the island. For this was the great and happy day which had been on our tongues ever since quitting the coast, for which we had made those noted marches laterally, one hundred and seventy-eight and a half miles and sixteen days, including pauses, something over eleven miles a day. The signal sounded and the caravan was joyfully off with banners flying and trumpets and horns blaring. A short two-and-a-half hours march brought us within sight of Quikura, which is about two miles south of Tabora, the main Arab town, on the outside of which we saw a long line of men in clean shirts, where at we opened our charged batteries and fired a volley of small arms, such as Quikura seldom heard before. The Pagazis closed up and adopted the swagger of veterans. The soldiers blazed away uninterruptedly, while I, seeing that the Arabs were advancing towards me, left the ranks and held out my hand, which was immediately grasped by Sheikh Said bin Salim, and then by about two dozen people, and thus our entree into Unyan Yembe was affected. End of Chapter 7, Part 4 Chapter 8, Part 1 of How I Found Livingstone. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. How I Found Livingstone by Sir Henry M. Stanley. Chapter 8, Part 1 My life and troubles during my residence in Unyas, Niembe. I became engaged in a war. I received a noiseless ovation as I walked side by side with the Governor, Said bin Salim, towards his tembe in Quikuru, or the capital. The Wanyamwezi Pagazis were out by the hundreds. The warriors of Unkazihuah, the sultan, hovered around their chief. The children were seen between the legs of their parents, even infants, a few months old, slung over their mother's backs, all paid the tribute due to my colour, with one grand concentrated stare. The only persons who talked with me were the Arabs, and aged in Kasiwa, ruler of Unyan Yembe. Said bin Salim's house was at the north-western corner of the enclosure, a stockaded Boma of Quikuru. We had tea made in a silver teapot, and a bountiful supply of dampers was smoking under a silver cover, and to this rapasta was invited. When a man has walked eight miles or so without any breakfast, and a hot tropical sun has been shining on him for three or four hours, he is apt to do justice to a meal, especially if his appetite is healthy. I think I astonished the Governor by the dexterous way in which I managed to consume eleven cups of his aromatic concoction of an Assam herb, and easy effortless style with which I demolished his high tower of slap-jacks, that but a minute or so has smoked hotly under their silver cover. For the meal I thanked the shake, as only an earnest and sincerely hungry man now satisfied could thank him. Even if I had not spoken, my gratified looks had well informed him under what obligations I had been laid to him. Out came my pipe and tobacco pouch. My friendly shake, wilt thou smoke? No thanks, Arabs never smoke. Oh, if you don't, perhaps you would not object to me smoking in order to assist digestion? Gimar, good, go on, master. Then began the questions, the gossipy, curious, serious, light questions. How came the master? By them proper road. It is good. Was the Makata bad? Very bad. What news from Zanzibar? Good, Sir Torquay has possession of Muscat, and Azim Bingis was slain in the streets. Is this true, Ali? By God. It is true. Heh, heh, this is news, stroking his beard. Have you heard, master, of Suleiman bin Ali? Yes, the Bombay governor sent him to Zanzibar in a man of war, and Suleiman bin Ali now lies in the Ghorizer. Fort. Heh, that is very good. Did you have to pay much tribute to the Wogogl? Eight times. Hamad Kimyani wished me to go by Qia, but I declined when struck through the forest to Muneka. Hamad and Tani thought it better to follow me than to brave Qia by themselves. Where is that Hajji Abdullah, Captain Burton, that came here and speaky? Speak. Hajji Abdullah? What Hajji Abdullah? Ah, Sheikh Burton, we call him. Oh, he is a great man now, a Balius, a consul, a Delcham, Damascus. Delcham? He is not there near Bedlam al-Quds, Jerusalem. Yes, about four days. Speaky is dead. He shot himself by accident. Ah, weller, by God, but this is bad news. Speaky dead? Mashallah. Oh, he was a good man, a good man, dead? But where is his Khaza, Sheikh Saeed? Khaza? Khaza? I never heard the name before. But you were with Burton and Speak at Khaza. You lived there several months when you were all stopping in Unyanyambi. It must be close here somewhere. Where did Hajji Abdullah and Speaky live when they were in Unyanyambi? Was it not in Musa Mazuri's house? That was in Tabora. Well then, where is Khaza? I have never seen the man yet who could tell me where that place is, and yet the three white men have that word down as the name of the place they lived at when you were with them. You must know where it is. Wala hibana, I never heard the name. But stop Khaza in Kinlimwezi, means kingdom. Perhaps they gave that name to the place they stopped at. But then I used to call the first house Snape in Amr's house, and Speak lived in Musa Mazuri's house, but both houses as well as all the rest are in Tabora. Thank you, Sheikh. I should like to go and look after my people. I must all be wanting food. I shall go with you to show you your house. The tembe is in Quihara, only an hour's walk from Tabora. On leaving Quikuru we crossed a low ridge, and soon saw Quihara lying between two low ranges of hills, the northern most of which was terminated westward by the round, fortress-like hill of Simbili. There was a cold glare of intense sunshine over the valley, probably the effect of a universal bleakness or an autumnal ripeness of the grass, unrelieved by any depth of colour to vary the universal sameness. The hills were bleached or seemed to be under that dazzling sunshine and clearest atmosphere. The corn had long been cut, and there lay this stubble in fields, a browny white expanse. The houses were of mud and their flat roofs were of mud, and the mud was of a browny whiteness. The huts were thatched and the stockades around them of barked timber, and these were of a browny whiteness. The cold, fierce, sickly wind from the mountains of Uzagara sent a deadly chill to our very marrows, yet the intense sunshiney glare never changed. A black cow or two or a tall tree here and there caught the eye for a moment, but they never made one forget that the first impression of Quihara was as of a picture without colour or of food without taste, and if one looked up there was a sky of a pale blue, spotless and of an awful serenity. As they approached the tembe of Saeed bin Salim, Sheikh bin Nasib and other great Arabs joined us. Before the great door of the tembe the men had stacked the bales and piled the boxes, and were using their tongues at a furious rate, relating to the chiefs and soldiers of the first, second and fourth caravans, the many events which had befallen them, and which seemed to them the only things worth relating. Outside of their own limited circles they evidently cared for nothing. Then the several chiefs of the other caravans had in turn to relate their experiences of the road, and the noise of tongues was loud and furious, but as we approached all this loud sounding gavel ceased, and my caravan chiefs and guides rushed to me to hail me as master, and to salute me as their friend. One fellow, faithful Baruti, threw himself at my feet. The others fired their guns and acted like madmen, suddenly become frenzied, and a general cry of welcome was heard on all sides. Walk in, master, this is your house now. Here are your men's quarters. Here you will receive the great Arabs. Here is the cookhouse. Here is the storehouse. Here is the prison for the refactory. Here are your white men's apartments. And these are your own. See, here is the bedroom. Here is the gun room, bathroom, etc. And so Sheikh Saeed talked, as he showed me the several places. In my honour it was the most comfortable place, this in Central Africa. One could almost wax poetic, but we will keep such ambitious ideas for a future day. Just now, however, we must have the goods stored, and that a little army of carriers paid off and disbanded. Bombay was ordered to unlock the strong storeroom, to purl the bales in regular tears, the beads and rows one above another, and the wire in a separate place. The boats, canvas, etc., were to be placed high above the reach of white ants, and the boxes of ammunition and powder kegs were to be stored in the gun room, out of reach of danger. Then a bale of cloth was opened, and each carry was rewarded according to his merits, that each of them might proceed home to his friends and neighbours and tell them how much better the white men behaved than the Arab. The reports of the leaders of the first, second and fourth caravans were then received, their separate stores inspected, and the details and events of their marches heard. The first caravan had been engaged in a war in Kirurumu, and had come out of the fight successful, and had reached near Niembe without loss of anything. The second had shot a thief in the forest between Pemperapera and Kiridimu. The fourth had lost a bale in the jungle of Marengamkali, and the porter who had carried it had received very sore head from a knob-stick wielded by one of the thieves, who prowl about the jungle near the frontier of Vugogo. I was delighted to find that their misfortunes were no more, and each leader was then and their rewarded with one handsome cloth, and five dhoti of Merakani. Just there began to feel hungry again came several slaves in succession, bearing trays full of good things from the Arabs. First an enormous dish of rice, with a bowl full of curried chicken, another with a dozen huge wheaten cakes, another with a plate full of smoking hot crullers, another with pawpaws, another with pomegranates and lemons. These came men driving five fat, hump-backed oxen, eight sheep and ten goats, and another man with a dozen chickens and a dozen fresh eggs. This was real, practical, noble courtesy, magnificent hospitality, which quite took my gratitude by storm. My people, now reduced to twenty-five, were as delighted at the prodigal plentitude visible on my tables and in my yard as I was myself, and as they saw their eyes light up at the unctuous anticipations presented to them by their riotous fancies, I ordered a bullock to be slaughtered and distributed. The second day of the arrival of the expedition in the country which I now looked upon as classic ground, since captain's burdens, speak and grant, years ago had visited it and described it, came the Arab magnets from Tabora to congratulate me. Tabora is the principal Arab settlement in central Africa. It contains over a thousand huts and tembees, and one may safely estimate the population, Arabs, Wangwano natives, at five thousand people. Between Tabora and the next settlement, Quihara, rise two rugged hill ridges separated from each other by a low saddle over the top of which Tabora is always visible from Quihara. There is no such recognized place as Khaza. They were a fine, handsome body of men, these Arabs. They mostly hailed from Oman. Others were Watha Wahili, and each of my visitors had quite a retinue with him. At Tabora they live quite luxuriously. The plain in which the settlement is situated is exceedingly fertile, though naked of trees, the rich pastureage it furnishes permits them to keep large herds of cattle and goats, from which they have an ample supply of milk, cream, butter, and ghee. Rice is grown everywhere. Sweet potatoes, yams, mohogo, mohogo, sorghum, maize, or Indian corn, sesame, millet, field peas, or vaches, called choroco, are cheap and always procurable. Around their tembehs the Arabs cultivate a little wheat for their own purposes, and have planted orange, lemon, popper, and mangoes, which thrive here fairly well. Onions and garlic, chilies, cucumbers, tomatoes, and brinjals may be procured by the white visitor from the more important Arabs, who are undoubted epicurians in their way. The slaves convey to them from the coast once a year at least. Their stores of tea, coffee, sugar, spices, jellies, curries, wine, brandy, biscuits, sardines, salmon, and such fine pots and articles as they require for their own personal use. Almost every Arab of any eminence is able to show a wealth of Persian carpets, and most luxurious bedding, complete tea and coffee services, and magnificently carved dishes of tinned copper and brass lavers. All of them sport gold watches and chains, mostly all a watch and chain of some kind, and as in Persia, Afghanistan and Turkey, the hardums form an essential feature of every Arab's household. The sensualism of the Mohammedans is as prominent here as in the Orient. The Arabs who now stood before the front door of my tembeh were the donors of the good things received the day before. As in duty bound, of course, I greeted Sheikh Said first, then Sheikh Bin Asif, His Highness of Zanzibar's Consul of Karakwa, then I greeted the noblest Trojan among the Arab population, noblest in bearing, noblest in courage and manly worth, Sheikh Kamis bin Abdullah, then young Amram bin Masoud, who is now making war on the king of Orori and his fractious people, then handsome, courageous Suud, the son of Said bin Majid, then dandified Dani bin Abdullah, then Musud bin Abdullah and his cousin Abdullah bin Masoud, who on the houses where formerly lived burdened and speak, then old Suleiman Dara, Said bin Saif, and the old headman of Tabora, Sheikh Sultan bin Ali. As the visit of these magnets under whose loving protection white travelers must need submit themselves was only a formal one, such as Arab etiquette, ever of the stateliest and truest impelled them to, it is unnecessary to relate the discourse on my health and their wealth, my thanks in their professions of loyalty and attachment to me. After having expended our mutual stock of congratulations and nonsense, they departed, having stated their wish that I should visit them at Tabora and partake of a feast which they were about to prepare for me. Three days afterwards, I sallied out of my tembe. I scorted by eighteen bravely dressed men of my escort to pay Tabora a visit. On surmounting the saddle over which the road from the valley of Quihara leads to Tabora, the plain on which the Arab settlement is situated lay before us, one expanse of Dun Pasturland, stretching from the base of the hill on our left as far as the banks of the northern gong, which a few miles beyond Tabora, he ventured to public-colored hills and blue cones. Within three-quarters of an hour, we were seated on the mud veranda of the tembe of Sultan bin Ali, who because of his age, his wealth and his position, being a colonel in Sayed Bukhash's unlovely army, is looked upon by his countrymen high and low as a referee and counsellor. His Boma, or enclosure, contains quite a village of hive-shaped huts and square tembes. From here, after being presented with a cup of mocha coffee and some sherbet, we directed our steps towards Kamis bin Abdullah's house, who had an anticipation of my coming prepared a feast to which he had invited his friends and neighbors. The group of stately Arabs in their long white dresses and jaunty caps, also of a snowy white, who stood ready to welcome me to Tabora, produced quite an effect on my mind. I was in time for a council of war they were holding, and I was requested to attend. Kamis bin Abdullah, a bold and brave man, ever ready to stand up for the privileges of the Arabs in their rights to pastor any countries for legitimate trade, is the man who, in speaks journal of the discovery of the source of the Nile, is reported to have shot Maula, an old chief who sided with Manu Asera during the wars of 1860, and who subsequently, after chasing his relentless enemy for five years through Ogogo and Unumuezi as far as Ukonongo, has a satisfaction of beheading him, was now urging the Arabs to assert their rights against a chief called Mirambo of Uyo'e in a crisis which was advancing. This Mirambo of Uyo'e, it seems, had for the last few years been in a state of chronic discontent with the policies of the neighbouring chiefs. Formerly a Pagasi for an Arab, he had now assumed regal power, with the usual knack of unconscionable rascals who cannot by what means they step into power. When the chief of Uyo'e died, Mirambo, who was head of a gang of robbers infesting the forests of Williamkuru, suddenly entered Uyo'e and constituted himself Lord Paramount by force. One feats of enterprise which he performed to the enrichment of all those who recognized his authority established him family in his possession. This was but a beginning. He carried war through Ugara to Unkonongo, through Usogozi to the borders of Uvinza, and after destroying the populations over three degrees of latitude, he conceived a grievance against Unkasiwa and against the Arabs, because they would not sustain him in his ambitious projects against the ally and friend with whom they were living in peace. The first outrage which this audacious man committed against the Arabs was the halting of new Gigi-bound caravan and the demand for five keks of gunpowder, five guns, and five bales of cloth. This extraordinary demand, after expending more than a day in face controversy, was paid, but the Arabs, if they were surprised that the exorbitant blackmail demanded of them, were more than ever surprised when they were told to return the way they came and that no Arab caravan should pass through his country to Uggigi, except over his dead body. On the return of the unfortunate Arabs to Unya-Niambi, they reported the facts to Sheikh Said bin Salim, the governor of the Arab colony. This old man, being averse to war, of course tried every means to induce Mirambo as of old to be satisfied with presence, but Mirambo this time was obdurate, and sternly determined on war unless the Arabs aided him in the warfare he was about to wage against old Imkasiwa, Sultan of the Uwania-Muezi of Unya-Niambi. This is the status of affairs, said Kamis Ben Adela. Mirambo says that for years he has been engaged in war against the neighbouring Washensi, and has come out of it victorious. He says this is a great year with him, that he is going to fight the Arabs in the Uwania-Muezi of Unya-Niambi, and that he shall not stop until every Arab is driven from Unya-Niambi, and he rules over this country in place of Imkasiwa. Children of our man, shall it be so? Speak, Salim, son of Said, shall we go to meet this Mashensi, pagan, or shall we return to our island? A murmur of approbation followed the speech of Kamis Ben Abdullah, the majority of those present being young men eager to punish the audacious Mirambo. Salim, the son of Said, an old patriarch, slow of speech, tried to appease the passions of the young men, signs of the aristocracy of Muscat and Mutra, and Bedouins of the desert, but Kamis' bold words had made too deep an impression on their minds. Soad, the handsome Arab whom I have noticed already as the son of Said, the son of Majid, spoke. My father used to tell me that he remembered the days when the Arabs could go through the country from Bagamoyo to Ujiji, and from Kilwa to London, and from Musengah to Uganda armed with canes. Those days are gone by. We have stood the insolence that there will go long enough. Swaruru of Usoi just takes from us whatever he wants, and now here is Mirambo, who says after taking more than five bales of cloth distributed from one man that no Arab caravan shall go to Ujiji, but over his body. Are we prepared to give up the eye of review, Gigi, of Orundi, of Karagwa, of Uganda because of this one man? I say war. War until we have got his beard under our feet. War until the whole of Uyoa and Williankuro is destroyed. War until we can again travel through any part of the country with only our walking canes in our hands. The universal assent that followed said speech proved beyond a doubt that we were about to have a war. I thought of Livingstone. What if you were marching to Unya and Yambi directly into the war country? Having found from the Arabs that they intended to finish the war quickly, at most within 15 days, as Uyoa was only four marches distant, I volunteered to accompany them, take my loaded caravan with me as far as Umputo, and I leave it in charge of a few guards, and with the rest march on with the Arab army. And my hope was that it might be possible after the defeat of Mirambo and his forest Banditi, the Ruga-Ruga, to take my expedition direct to Ujiji by the road now closed. The Arabs were sang on a victory, and I partook of their enthusiasm. The Council of War broke up. A great dish full of rice and curry in which almond, citron, raisins, and currants were plentifully mixed was brought in, and it was wonderful how soon we forgot our warlike fervour after our attention had been drawn to this royal dish. I, of course, not being a Mohammedan, had a dish of my own, of a similar composition, strengthened by platters containing roast chicken and kebabs, crullers, cakes, sweetbread, fruit, glasses of sherbet and lemonade, dishes of gum drops and musket sweetmeats, dry raisins, prunes, and nuts. Certainly, Kimi's been Abdullah-proof to me that if he had a warlike soul in him, he could also attend to the cultivated tastes acquired under the shade of the mangoes on his father's estates in Zanzibar, the island. After gorging ourselves on these uncommon dainties, some of the chief Arabs escorted me to other tenbe's of Tabora. When we went to visit Musub bin Abdullah, he showed me the very ground where Burton and Speaks' houses stood, now pulled down and replaced by his office. Sneep in our mayor's house was also torn down, and the fashionable tenbe of Unia Niembe, now in vogue, built over it, finally carved rafters, huge carved doors, brass knockers, and lofty, airy rooms, a house built for defence and comfort. The finest house in Unia Niembe belongs to Amram bin Masoud, who paid sixty Fressila of Ivory, over three thousand dollars for it. Very fair houses can be purchased from twenty to thirty Fressila of Ivory. Amram's house is called the Two Seas, Bahrain. It is one hundred feet in length and twenty feet high, with walls four feet thick, neatly plastered over with mud mortar. The great door is a marvel of carving work for Unia Niembe artisans. Each rafter within is also carved with fine designs. Before the front of the house is a young plantation of pomegranate trees, which flourish here as if they were indigenous to the soil. A shadoof, such as may be seen on the Nile, serves to draw water to irrigate the gardens. End of Chapter 8, Part 2 My Life and Troubles During My Residence In Unia Niembe Towards evening we walked back to our own finely situated tembe in Quihara, well satisfied with what we had seen at Tabora. My man drove a couple of oxen and carried three sacks of native rice, a most superior kind, the day's presence of hospitality from Camisbin Abdullah. In Unia Niembe I found the Livingston caravan, which started off in a fright from Bagamoyo upon the rumour that the English consul was coming. As all the caravans when I halted at Unia Niembe because of the now approaching war, I suggested to Saeed bin Salim that it were better that the men of the Livingston caravan should live with mine in my tembe that I might watch over the white man's goods. Saeed bin Salim agreed with me, and the men and goods were at once brought to my tembe. One day I had Mane, who was now chief of Livingston's caravan, the other having died of smallpox two or three days before, brought out a tent to the veranda where I was sitting writing, and showed me a packet of letters which to my surprise was marked to Dr. Livingston Ujiji, November 1, 1870, registered letters. From November 1, 1870 to February 10, 1871, just one hundred days at Bagamoyo, a miserable small caravan of thirty-three men, halting one hundred days at Bagamoyo, only twenty-five miles by water from Zanzibar. Poor Livingston! Who knows but he may be suffering for one of these very supplies that were detained so long near the sea. The caravan arrived at Unia Niembe some time about the middle of May. About the latter part of May the first disturbances took place. Had this caravan arrived here in the middle of March, or even in the middle of April, they might have travelled on to Ujiji without trouble. On the seventh of July, about two p.m., I was sitting on the Bosani as usual. I felt listless and languid, and a drowsiness came over me. I did not fall asleep, but the power of my limbs seemed to fail me. Yet the brain was busy. All my life seemed passing and review before me when these retrospective scenes became serious, I looked serious. When they were sorrowful I wept hysterically, and when they were joyous I laughed loudly. The disturbances of yet a young life's battles and hard struggles came surging into the mind in quick succession. Events of boyhood, of youth, and manhood, perils, travels, scenes, joys and sorrows, loves and hates, friendships and indifferences. My mind followed the various and rapid transition of my life's passages. It drew the lengthy erratic, sinuous lines of travel my footsteps had passed over. If I had drawn them on the sandy floor, what enigmatic problems there had been to those around me, and what plain, readable, intelligent histories there had been to me. The loveliest feature of all to me was the form of a noble and true man who called me son. Of my life in the great pine forests of Arkansas and Missouri I retained the most vivid impressions. The dreaming days I passed under the sighing pines on the Orquitas shores, the new clearing, the blockhouse, our faithful black servant, the forest deer and the exuberant life alert, were all well remembered. And I remembered how one day after we had come to live near the Mississippi, I floated down, down hundreds of miles, with a wild fraternity of nerly giants, the boatmen of the Mississippi, and how a dear old man welcomed me back as if from the grave. I remembered also my travels on foot through sunny Spain and France, with a numberless adventures in Asia Minor, among Kurdish nomads. I remembered the battlefields of America and the stormy scenes of rampant war. I remembered gold mines and broad prairies, Indian cancels, and much experience in the new Western lands. I remembered the shock it gave me to hear after my return from a barbarous country, of the calamity that had overtaken the fond man whom I called father, and the hot, fitful life that followed it. Stop. Dear me, is it really first of July? Yes, sure inform me that it was the 21st of July after I recovered from my terrible attack of fever. The true date was the 14th of July, but I was not aware that I had jumped a week until I met Dr. Livingstone. We two together examined the nautical almanac, which I brought with me. We found that the doctor was three weeks out of his reckoning, and to my great surprise I was also one week out, or one week ahead of the actual date. The mistake was made by my being informed that I had been two weeks sick, and as the day I recovered my senses was Friday, and sure on the people were morally sure that I was in bed two weeks, I dated at Hamidari the 21st of July. However, on the tenth day after the first of my illness, I was an excellent trim again, only, however, to see and attend to Shaw, who was in turn taken sick. By the 22nd of July, Shaw was recovered, then Salim was prostrated, and groaned in his delirium for four days, but by the 28th we were all recovered, and were beginning to brighten up at the prospect of a diversion in the shape of a march upon Mirambo's stronghold. The morning of the 29th there had fifty men loaded with bales, beads and wire for Ujiji. When they were mustered for the march outside the tembe, the only man absent was Bombay. While men were sent to search for him, others departed to get one more look and one more embrace with their black delilas. Bombay was found sometime about two p.m. His face faithfully depicting the contending passions under which he was laboring. Sorrow at parting from the flesh-parts of Unia Niembe, regret at parting from his Dulcene of Tobora, to be bereft of all enjoyment now, nothing but marches, hard long marches, to go to the war to be killed, perhaps? Oh, inspired by such feelings, no wonder Bombay was inclined to be pugnacious when I ordered him to his place, and I was in a shocking bad temper, for having been kept waiting from eight a.m. to two p.m. for him. There was simply a word and a savage look, and my cane was flying round Bombay's shoulders as if he were to be annihilated. I fancied that the eager fury of my onslaught broke his stubbornness more than anything else, for before I had struck him a dozen times he was crying for pardon. At that word I ceased belaboring him, for this was the first time he had ever uttered that word. Bombay was conquered at last. Much, and the guide led off, followed in solemn order by forty-nine of his fellows, every man carrying a heavy load of African monies besides his gun, hatchet, and stock of ammunition, and his ukali pot, represented quite an imposing sight while thus marching on in silence and order, with our flags flying, and the red blanket robes of the men streaming behind them as the furious northeaster blew right on our flank. The men seemed to feel they were worth seeing, for I noticed that several assumed a more martial tread as they felt their royal jojo cloth tugging at their necks, as it was swept streaming behind by the wind. Maganga, a tall Minion Muesi, stalked along like a very goliath about to give battle alone to Mirambo and his thousand warriors. Frisky Kamisi paced on under his load, imitating a lion, and there was the rude jester, the encourage of Lulemengo, with a stealthy pace like a cat, but their sounds could not last long. Their vanity was so much gratified the red cloaks danced so incessantly before their eyes that it would have been a wonder if they could have maintained such serious gravity or discontent one half hour longer. Lulemengo was the first who broke it. He had constituted himself the Kirongozi or guide, and was a standard bearer, bearing the American flag which the men thought would certainly strike terror into the hearts of the enemy. Growing confident at first, then valorous, then exultant, he suddenly faced the army he was leading and shouted, Hoi, hoi, chorus, hoi, hoi. Where are you going? Chorus, going to war. Against whom? Chorus, against Mirambo. Who is your master? Chorus, the white man. Oh, oh, Chorus, oh, oh. Yah, yah, Chorus, yah, yah. This was the ridiculous song they kept up all day without intermission. We camped the first day at Bomboma's village, situated a mile to the southwest of the natural hill fortress of Zinbili. Bombay was quite recovered from his thrashing, and had banished the sullen thoughts that had aroused my eye, and the men having behaved themselves so well, a five-gallon pot of Bombay was brought to further nourish the valor which they one and all thought they possessed. The second day we arrived at Masanghi. I was visited soon afterwards by Soad, the son of Said bin Majid, who told me the Arabs were waiting for me, that they would not march from Mufuta until I had arrived. Eastern Mufuta, after a six-hour march, was reached on the third day for Munia Nyambi. Shor gave in, laid down in the road, and declared he was dying. This news was brought to me about four p.m. by one of the last stragglers. I was bound to despatch men to carry him to me, into my camp, though every man was well tired after the long march. A reward stimulated half a dozen to venture into the forest just at dusk, to find Shor, who was supposed to be at least three hours away from camp. About two o'clock in the morning my men returned, having carried Shor on their backs the entire distance. I was roused up and had him conveyed to my tent. I examined him, and I assured myself he was not suffering from fever of any kind. And in reply to my inquiries as to how he felt, he said he could neither walk nor ride, that he felt such extreme weakness and lassitude that he was incapable of moving further. After administering a glass of port wine to him and a bowl full of Sego gruel, we both fell asleep. We arrived early the following morning at Mufuta, the rendezvous of the Arab army. A halt was ordered the next day in order to make ourselves strong by eating the bees, which we freely slaughtered. The personnel of our army was as follows. Sheik Saeed bin Salim, twenty-five half-caste. Sheik Kami's bin Abdullah, two hundred and fifty slaves. Sheik Thani bin Abdullah, eighty slaves. Sheik Musud bin Abdullah, seventy-five slaves. Sheik Abdullah bin Masoud, eighty slaves. Sheik Ali bin Saeed bin Nasib, two hundred and fifty slaves. Sheik Nasir bin Masoud, fifty slaves. Sheik Hamad Kami, seventy slaves. Sheik Hamdam, thirty slaves. Sheik Saeed bin Habib, fifty slaves. Sheik Salim bin Saeed, a hundred slaves. Sheik Sunguru, twenty-five slaves. Sheik Saaboko, twenty-five slaves. Sheik Saoud bin Saeed bin Majeed, fifty slaves. Sheik Muhammad bin Masoud, thirty slaves. Sheik Saeed bin Hamad, ninety slaves. The Herald Expedition, fifty soldiers. In Kassiwa's Guanyamwazi, eight hundred soldiers, a hundred and twenty-five half-castes in Wanwanga, and three hundred independent chiefs and their followers. This made a total of two thousand, two hundred and fifty-five, according to numbers given me by Thani bin Abdullah, and corroborated by a balook in the pair of Sheik bin Nasib. Of these men, one thousand five hundred armed with guns, flintlocked muskets, German and French double barrels, some English end fields, and American spring fields. Besides these muskets, they were mostly armed with spears and long knives for the purpose of decapitating and inflicting vengeful gashes in the dead bodies. Powder and ball were plentiful. Some men were served a hundred rounds each. My people received each man sixty rounds. As we fell out of the stronghold of Mufuta, with waving banners denoting the various commanders with booming horns in the roar of fifty-based drums called Gomas, with blessings showered on us by the molas and happiest predications from the soothsayers, astrologers and the diviners of the Koran, who could have foretold that this grand force, before a week passed over its head, would be hurrying into that same stronghold of Mufuta, with each man's heart and his mouth from fear. The date of our leaving Mufuta for battle with Mirambo was the third of August. All my goods were stored in Mufuta, ready for the march to Ujiti, should we be victorious over the African chief, but at least for safety whatever befall us. Long before we reached Amanda, I was in my hammock in the peroxins of a fierce attack of intermittent fever, which did not leave me until late that night. At Amanda, six hours from Mufuta, our warriors bedorbed themselves with the medicine which the wise men had manufactured for them, a compound of matama flour mixed with the juice of a herb whose virtues were only known to the Wangana of the Winyamuezi. At six a.m. on the fourth of August, we were once more prepared for the road, but before we were marched out of the village, the Maneno, or speech, was delivered by the orator of the Winyamuezi. Words, words, words. Listen, sons of Amkasiwa, children of Winyamuezi. The journey is before you. The thieves of the forest are waiting. Yes, they are thieves. They cut up your caravans. They steal your ivory. They murder your women. Behold, the Arabs are with you. Al-Wali of the Arab Sultan and the white man are with you. Go, the son of Amkasiwa is with you. Fight! Kill, take slaves, take cloth, take cattle. Kill, eat, and fill yourselves. Go! A loud wild shout followed this bold harangue. The gates of the village were thrown open, and blue-red and white-robed soldiers were bounding upwards like so many gymnasts, firing their guns incessantly in order to encourage themselves with noise, or to strike terror into the hearts of those who awaited us within the strong enclosure of Zimbiza, Sultan Kolongo's palace. As Zimbizo was distant only five hours from Amanda, at 11 a.m. we came in view of it. We halted on the verge of the cultivated area around it and its neighbors, within the shadow of the forest. Strict orders had been given by several chiefs to their respective commands not to fire until they were within shooting distance of the Boma. Kamisbeen Abdullah crept through the forest to the west of the village. The Wani and Wazi took their positions before the main gateway, aided by the forces of Soad, the son of Said on the right, and the son of Habib on the left. Abdullah Musud and myself and others made ready to attack the eastern gate, which arrangement effectually shut them in with the exception of the northern side. Suddenly a volley opened on us as we emerged from the forest along the Unionian Birode, in the direction they had been anticipating the sight of an enemy, and immediately the attacking forces began their firing in most splendid style. There were some ludicrous scenes of men pretending to fire, then jumping off to one side, then forward, then backward, with the agility of hopping frogs, but the battle was nonetheless in earnest. The breech-loaders of my men swallowed my metallic cartridges much faster than I liked to see, but happily there was a lull in the firing and we were rushing into the village from the west, the south, the north, through the gates and over the tall palings that surrounded the village, like so many Mary Andrews, and the poor villagers were flying from the enclosure towards the mountains through the northern gate, pursued by the fleetiest runners of our force and pelted in the back by bullets from breech-loaders and shotguns. The village was strongly defended and not more than twenty dead bodies were found in it, the strong thick wooden paling having afforded excellent protection against our bullets. From Zimbiza, after having left a sufficient force within, we sallied out and in an hour had cleared the neighbourhood of the enemy, having captured two other villages which were committed to the flames after gutting them of all valuables. A few tusks of ivory and about fifty slaves, besides an abundance of grain, composed of loot, which felt of the lot of the Arabs. On the fifth, a detachment of Arabs and slaves, seven hundred strong, scoured the surrounding country and carried fire and devastation up to the bomber of William Kuru. On the sixth, so had been Said and about twenty other young Arabs led a force of five hundred men against William Kuru itself, where it was supposed Mirambo was living. Another party went out towards the low-wooded hills, a short distance north of Zimbiza, near which place is surprised a youthful forest thief asleep, whose head they stretched backwards and cut it off as though he were a goat or a sheep. Another party sallied out southward and defeated the party of Mirambo's bushwhackers, news of which came to our ears at noon. In the morning I had gone to Said bin Salim's tembe to represent to him how necessary it was to burn the long grass in the forest of Zimbiza, lest it might hide and aive the enemy. But soon afterwards I had been struck down with another attack of intermittent fever, and was obliged to turn in and cover myself with blankets to produce perspiration, but not however till I had ordered Sean Bombay not to permit any of my men to leave the camp. But I was told soon afterwards by Salim that more than one-half had gone to the attack on William Kuroh as Said bin Saeed. About six p.m. the entire camp for Zimbiza was electrified with the news that all the Arabs who had accompanied Said bin Saeed had been killed, and that more than one-half of his party had been slain. Some of my own men returned, and from them I learned that Uledi, grants for Mevalay, Mabruki Kattalabu, killer of his father, Mabruki, the little, Baruti of Usegoa, and Ferrohan had been killed. I learned also that they had succeeded in capturing William Kuroh in a very short time, that Mirambo and his son were there, that as they succeeded in affecting an entrance Mirambo had collected his men and after leaving the village had formed an ambush in the grass on each side of the road between William Kuroh and Zimbiza, and that as the attacking party were returning home laden with over a hundred tusks of ivory and sixty bales of cloth and two or three hundred slaves, Mirambo's men suddenly rose up on each side of them and stabbed them with their spears. The brave Saeed had fired his double-barreled gun and shot two men, and was in the act of loading again when the spear was launched, which penetrated through and through him, while the other Arabs shared the same fate. This sudden attack from an enemy they believed to be conquered so demoralized the party that dropping the spoil each man took to his heels and after making a wide detour through the woods returned to Zimbiza to repeat the dolorous tale. The effect of this defeat is indescribable. It was impossible to sleep from the shrieks of the women whose husbands had fallen all night they howled their lamentations and sometimes might be heard the groans of the wounded who are contrived to crawl through the grass unperceived by the enemy. Fugitives were continually coming in throughout the night, but none of my men who were reported to be dead were ever heard of again. This seventh was a day of distrust, sorrow, and retreat. The Arabs accused one another for urging war without expending all peaceful means first. There were stormy cancels of war held, wherein were some who proposed to return at once to Union Yambi and keep within their own houses, and Kamis bin Abdullah raved like an insulted monarch against the abject cowardice of his compatriots. These stormy meetings and propositions to retreat were soon known throughout the camp, and assisted more than anything else to demoralize completely the combined forces of Wenya Mwazi and slaves. I sent Bombay to Said bin Salim to advise him not to think of retreat, as it would only be inviting Mirambo to carry the war to Union Yambi. After dispatching Bombay with this message I fell asleep, but about one-thirty p.m. I was awakened by Salim saying, Master, get up! They are all running away and Kamis bin Abdullah is himself going. With the aid of Salim I dressed myself and staggered towards the door. My first view was of Danib bin Abdullah being dragged away, who, when he caught sight of me, shouted out, Banna, quick! Mirambo is coming. He was then turning to run and putting on his jacket, with his eyes almost starting out of their sockets with terror. Kamis bin Abdullah was also departing, he being the last Arab to leave. Two of my men were following him. These Salim was ordered to force back with the revolver. Shor was saddling his donkey with my own saddle, preparatory to giving me the slip and leaving me in the lurch to the tandem mercies of Mirambo. There were only Bombay, Mabruki speak, Chanda, who was coolly eating his dinner, Mabruk Union Yambi, Mntamin, Mntamani, Juma and Samyan, only seven out of fifty. All the others had deserted and were by this time far away except Uledi, Manuasera and Zaidi, whom Salim brought back at the point of a loaded revolver. Salim was then told to saddle my donkey and Bombay to assist Shor to saddle his own. In a few moments we were on the road, the men ever looking back for the coming enemy. They belabored the donkeys for some purpose for they went into hard trot which caused me intense pain. I would have gladly lain down to die, but life was sweet and I had not yet given up all hope of being able to preserve it to the full and final accomplishment of my mission. My mind was actively at work, planning and contriving during the long lonely hours of night, which we employed to reach Mahfuta, whether I found the Arabs had retreated. In the night Shor tumbled off his donkey and would not rise, though implored to do so, as I did not despair myself, so I did not intend that Shor should despair. He was lifted on his animal and a man was placed at each side of him to assist him, thus we rode through the darkness. At midnight we reached Mahfuta safely and were at once admitted into the village, from which we had issued so valiantly, but to which we were now returned so ignominiously. I found all my men had arrived here before dark. Ulamengo, the bold guide who had exalted in his weapons in our numbers and was so sanguine of victory, had performed the eleven hours march in six hours. Sturdi Ciapare, whom I regarded as the faithfulest of my people, had arrived only half an hour later than Ulamengo, and Frisky Kameezy, the dandy, the orator, the rampant demagogue, yes he had come third, and Speeg's faithfuls had proved as cowardly as any poor nigger of them all. Only Salim was faithful. I asked Salim, why did you not also run away and leave your master to die? Oh, sir, said the arrow-boy naively. I was afraid you would whip me. End of chapter eight, part two. Chapter nine, part one of How I Found Livingston. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, read by Anna Simon. How I Found Livingston. Travels, adventures and discoveries in Central Africa, including four-month residence with Dr. Livingston by Sir Henry M. Stanley. Chapter nine, part one. My life and troubles in Union Yembe continued. It never occurred to the Arab magnates that I had cause of complaint against them, or that I had a right to feel aggrieved that their conduct for the base desertion of an ally who had, as a duty to friendship, taken up arms for their sake. Their salams the next morning after the retreat were given as if nothing had transpired to mar the good feeling that had existed between us. They were hardly seated, however, before I began to inform them that as the war was only between them and Mirambo, and that as I was afraid if they were accustomed to run away after every little check that the war might last a much longer time than I could afford to lose, and that as they had deserted their wounded on the field and left their sick friends to take care of themselves, they must not consider me in the light of an ally anymore. I am satisfied, said I, having seen your mode of fighting, that the war will not be ended in so short a time as you think it will. It took you five years I here to conquer and kill Manuel Cera. You will certainly not conquer Mirambo in less than a year. Aside, the same war is still raging, April 1874. End of aside. I am a white man accustomed to wars after a different style. I know something about fighting, but I never saw people run away from an encantment like ours at Zimbizo for such slight causes you had. By running away, you have invited Mirambo to follow you to Union Yemba. You may be sure he will come. The Arabs protested one after another that they had not intended to have left me, but the Wanyamesi of Mucasiva had shouted out that the Muzungu was gone, and the cry had caused a panic among their people, which it was impossible to allay. Later that day the Arabs continued their retreat to Tabora, which is 22 miles distant from Futo. I determined to proceed more leisurely, and on the second day after the flight from Zimbizo, the expedition with all the stores and baggage marched back to Muzangi, and on the third day to Quihara. The following extracts from my diary will serve to show better than anything else my feelings and thoughts about this time after our disgraceful retreat. Quihara, Friday 11th August 1871. Arrived today from Zimbili, village of Montbomas. I am quite disappointed and almost disheartened, but I have one consolation. I have done my duty by the Arabs, a duty I thought I owed to the kindness they received me with. Now, however, the duty is discharged, and I am free to pursue my own cause. I feel happy, for some reasons, that the duty has been paid at such a slight sacrifice. Of course, if I had lost my life in this enterprise, I should have been justly punished. But apart from my duty to the consideration with which the Arabs had received me, was the necessity of trying every method of reaching Livingston. This road, which the war with Mirambo has closed, is only a month's march from this place, and, if the road could be opened with my aid sooner than without it, why should I refuse my aid? The attempt has been made for the second time to Ojiji. Both have failed. I am going to try another route, to attempt to go by the north would be folly. Mirambo's mother and people, and the Wazui, are between me and Ojiji, without including the Waututa, who are his allies, and robbers. The southern route seems to be the most practicable one. Very few people know anything of the country south. Those who might have questioned concerning it speak of wand of water, and robber was a vira, as serious obstacles. They also say that the settlements are few and far between. But before I can venture to try this new route, I have to employ a new set of men, as those whom I took to Futo consider their engagements at an end, and the fact of five of their number being killed rather dims their order for traveling. It is useless to hope that one amazey can be engaged, because it is against their custom to go with caravans as carriers during wartime. My position is most serious. I have a good excuse for returning to the coast, but my conscience will not permit me to do so, after so much money has been expended, and so much confidence has been placed in me. In fact, I feel I must die sooner than return. Saturday, August 12th. My men, as I suppose they would, have gone. They said that I engaged them to go to Ujiji by Marambo's road. I have only 13 left. With this small body of man wither can I go. I have over 100 loads in the storeroom. Livingston's caravan is also here. His goods consist of 17 bills of cloth, 12 boxes, and six bags of beads. His men are luxuriating upon the best the country affords. If Livingston is at Ujiji, he is now locked up with small means of escape. I may consider myself also locked up at Unyanyembe, and I suppose cannot go to Ujiji until this war with Marambo is settled. Livingston cannot get his goods, for they are here with mine. He cannot return to Zanzibar, and the road to the Nile is blocked up. He might, if he has men in stores, possibly reach Baker by traveling northwards through Urundi, then through Rwanda, Karagwa, Uganda, Unyoro, and Ubari to Gondokoro. Pagasi's he cannot obtain, for the sources when the supply might be obtained are closed. It is an erroneous supposition to think that Livingston, any more than any other energetic man of his calibre, can travel through Africa without some sort of an escort, and a durable supply of marketable cloth and beads. I was told today by a man that when Livingston was coming from Nyaza Lake towards the Tanjanika, the very time that people thought he murdered, he was met by Said bin Omar's caravan, which was banned for Ulamba. He was traveling with Mohammed bin Gharab. This Arab, who was coming from Urunda, met Livingston at Chikumbis, or Quachikumbis country, and traveled with him afterwards, I hear, to Manuema, or Manema. Manuema is 40 marches from the north of Nyaza. Livingston was walking. He was dressed in American sheeting. He had lost all his cloth in Lake Liemba, while crossing it in a boat. He had three canoes with him. In one he put his cloth, another he loaded with his boxes, and some with men. Into the third he went himself with two servants and two fishermen. The boat with his cloth was upset. On leaving Nyaza, Livingston went to Ubiza, thence to Uyemba, thence to Urunda. Livingston wore a cap. He had a breech-loading double-barreled rifle with him, which fired fominating balls. He was also armed with two revolvers. The Vahio, with Livingston, told this man that their master had many men with him at first, but that several had deserted him. August 13th. A caravan came in today from the Sikos. They reported that William L. Farkar, whom I left sick at Mvapa, Uzagara, and his cook were dead. Farkar, I was told, died a few days after I had entered Ugogo. His cook died a few weeks later. My first impulse was for revenge. I believed that Lukola had played me false, and had poisoned him, or that he had been murdered in some other manner. But a personal interview with the Masahili, who brought the news, informed me that Farkar would succumb to his dreadful illness, has done away with that suspicion. So far as I could understand him, Farkar had in the morning declared himself well enough to proceed, but in attempting to rise had fallen backward and died. I was also told that the Uzagara, possessing some superstitious notions respecting the dead, had ordered Jaco to take the body out for burial. That Jaco, not being able to carry it, had dragged the body to the jungle, and there left it naked, without the slightest covering of earth or anything else. There is one of us gone, show my boy, who will be the next? I remarked that night to my companion. August 14th. Wrote some letters to Zanzibar. Shaw was taken very ill last night. August 19th. Saturday. My soldiers are employed, straying beads. Shaw is still a bed. We hear that Marambo is coming to Urni Nyembe. A detachment of Arabs and our slaves have started this morning to possess themselves with the powder left there by the redoubtable Sheikh Said bin Salim, the commander-in-chief of the Arab settlements. August 21st. Monday. Shaw still sick. 100 fondos of beads have been strung. The Arabs are preparing for another sally against Marambo. The advance of Marambo upon Urni Nyembe was denied by Said bin Salim this morning. August 22nd. We were stringing beads this morning when, about 10 a.m., we heard a continued firing from the direction of Tabora. Rushing out from our work to the front door, facing Tabora, we heard considerable volleying and scattered firing, plainly, and ascending to the top of my tembe, I saw with my glasses the smoke of the guns. Some of my men who were sent on to ascertain the cause came running back with the information that Marambo had to attack Tabora with over 2,000 men, and that a force of over 1,000 Watuta, who had allied themselves with him for the sake of plunder, had come suddenly upon Tabora, attacking from opposite directions. Later in the day, or about noon, watching the low saddle over which we could see Tabora, we saw it crowded with fugitives from that settlement, who were rushing to our settlement at Quihara for protection. From these people we heard the sad information that the noble Khabis bin Abdullah, his little protégé Khamis, Mohamed bin Abdullah, Ibrahim bin Rashid, and Saif, the son of Ali, the son of Shaikh, the son of Nazib, had been slain. When I inquired into the details of the attack and the manner of the death of these Arabs, I was told that after the first firing which warned the inhabitants of Tabora that the enemy was upon them, Khamis bin Abdullah and some of the principal Arabs who happened to be with him had ascended to the roof of his tembe, and with his spy-glass he had looked towards the direction of the firing. To his great astonishment he saw the plane around Tabora filled with approaching savages, and about two miles off, near Kazima, a tent pitched which he knew to belong to Marambo, from it having been presented to that chief by the Arabs of Tabora when they were on good terms with him. Khamis bin Abdullah descended to his house, saying, let us go to meet him, arm yourselves, my friends, and come with me. His friends advised him strongly not to go out of his tembe, for so long as each Arab kept to his tembe they were more than a match for the Ruga Ruga and the Watuta together. But Khamis broke out impatiently with, which he advises to stop in our tembe's for fear of this machente, pagan, who goes with me? His little protege, Khamis, son of a dead friend, asked to be allowed to be his gunbearer. Muhammad bin Abdullah, Ibrahim bin Rashid, and Saif the son of Ali, young Arabs of good families who were proud to live with the noble Khamis, also offered to go with him. After hastily arming eighty of his slaves, contrary to the advice of his prudent friends, he sellied out, and was soon face to face with his cunning and determined enemy Marambo. This chief, upon seeing the Arabs advance towards him, gave orders to retreat slowly. Khamis, deceived by this, rushed on with his friends after them. Suddenly, Marambo ordered his men to advance upon them in a body, and at the sight of the precipitated rush upon their party, Khamis' slaves incontinently took through their heels, never even daining to cast a glance behind them, leaving their master to the fate which was now overtaking him. The savages surrounded the five Arabs, and though several of them fell before the Arabs' fire, continued to shoot at the little party, until Khamis bin Abdullah received a bullet in the leg, which brought him to his knees, and for the first time to the knowledge that his slaves had deserted him. Though wounded, the brave man continued shooting, but he soon afterwards received a bullet through the heart. Little Khamis, upon seeing his adopted father's fall, exclaimed, My father Khamis is dead, I will die with him, and continued fighting until he received, shortly after, his death wound. In a few minutes there was not one Arab left alive. Late at night, some more particulars arrived of this tragic scene. I was told by people who saw the bodies that the body of Khamis bin Abdullah, who was a fine, noble, brave, portly man, was found with the skin of his forehead, the beard and skin of the lower part of his face, the fore part of the nose, the fat over the stomach and abdomen, and lastly, a bit from each heel cut off by the savage allies of Mirambo, and in the same condition were found the bodies of his adopted son and fallen friends. The flesh and skin thus taken from the bodies was taken, of course, by the Waganga or medicine men, to make what they deemed to be the most powerful potion of all to enable men to be strong against their enemies. This potion is mixed up with Erugali and rice, and is taken in this manner, with the most perfect confidence in its efficacy as an invulnerable protection against bullets and missiles of all descriptions. It was a most sorry scene to witness from our excited settlement at Krihara, almost a whole of Tabora in flames, and to see the hundreds of people crowding into Krihara. Perceiving that my people were willing to stand by me, I made preparations for defense by boring loopholes from muskets into the stalke clay walls of my tembe. They were made so quickly, and seemed so admirably adapted for the efficient defense of the tembe, that my men got quite brave, and Wangwana refugees with guns in their hands, driven out of Tabora, asked to be admitted into our tembe to assist in its defense. Livingston's men were also collected, and invited to help defend their master's goods against Mirambos' supposed attack. By night, I had 150 armed men in my co-chart, stationed at every possible point where an attack might be expected. Tomorrow, Mirambos has threatened that he will come to Krihara. I hope he will come, and if he comes within range of an American rifle, I shall see what virtue lies in American lead. August 23rd. We have passed a very anxious day in the valley of Krihara. Our eyes were constantly directed towards unfortunate Tabora. It has been said that three tembe's only have stood the brunt of the attack. Abidbin Suleiman's house has been destroyed, and over 200 tusk's of ivory that belong to him have become the property of the African Bonaparte. My tembe is in as efficient a state of defense as its style and means of defense will allow. Rifle pits surround the house outside, and all native huts that obstructed the view have been torn down, and old trees and shrubs which might serve as a shelter for anyone of the enemy have been cut. Provisions and water enough for six days have been brought. I have ammunition enough to last two weeks. The walls are three feet thick, and there are apartments within apartments so that a desperate body of man could fight until the last room had been taken. The Arabs, my neighbors, endeavored to seem brave, but it is evident they are about despairing. I have heard at rumored that the Arabs of Krihara, if Tabora is taken, will start ammas for the coast and give the country up to Marambo. If such are their intentions and they are really carried into effect, I shall be in a pretty mess. However, if they do leave me, Marambo will not reap any benefit from my stalls, nor from Livingston's either, for I shall burn the whole house and everything in it. August 24th. The American flag is still waving above my house, and the Arabs are still in Unyanyembe. About 10 a.m. a messenger came from Tabora, asking us if we were not going to assist them against Marambo. I felt very much like going out to help them, but after debating long upon the pros and cons of it, asking myself, was it prudent, all tight to go? What will become of the people if I were killed? Will they not desert me again? What was the fate of Kamiz bin Abdullah? I said word that I would not go, that they ought to feel perfectly at home in the tempers against such a force as Marambo had, that I should be glad if they could induce him to come to Krihara, in which case I would try and pick him off. They say that Marambo and his principal officer carry umbrellas over their heads, that he himself has long hair like a nyamwezi pagasi and a beard. If he comes, all the men carrying umbrellas will have bullets rained on them in the hope that one lucky bullet may hit him. According to popular ideas, I should make a silver bullet, but I have no silver with me. I might make a gold one. About noon I went over to see Sheikh bin Nazib, leaving about 100 men inside the house to guard it while I was absent. This old fellow is quite a philosopher in his way. I should call him a professor of minor philosophy. He is generally so sententious, font of aphorisms and a very deliberate character. I was astonished to find him so despairing. His aphorisms have deserted him. His philosophy has not been able to stand against disaster. He listened to me more like a moribund than one possessing all the means of defence and offence. I loaded his two pounder with bowl and grape and small slugs of iron and advised him not to fire it until Marambo's people were at his gates. About four p.m. I heard that Marambo had deported himself to Kazima, a place northwest of Tabora, a couple of miles. August 26th. The Arabs sell it out this morning to attack Kazima, but refrained because Marambo asked for a day's grace to eat the beef he had stolen from them. He has asked them impudently to come tomorrow morning, at which time he says he will give them plenty of fighting. Quihara is once more restored to a peaceful aspect and fugitives no longer throng its narrow limits in fear and despair. End of chapter 9, part 1. Chapter 9, part 2 of How I Found Livingston. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, read by Anna Simon. How I Found Livingston. Travels, adventures and discoveries in Central Africa, including four months' residence with Dr. Livingston. By Sir Henry M. Stanley. Chapter 9, part 2. My Life and Troubles in Union Yembe. Continued. August 27th. Marambo retreated during the night, and when the Arabs went in force to attack his village of Kazima, they found it vacant. The Arabs hold councils of war nowadays, battle meetings of which they seem to be very fond, but extremely slow to act upon. They were about to make friends with the Northern Wattuta, but Marambo was ahead of them. They had talked of invading Marambo's territory the second time, but Marambo invaded Union Yembe with fire and sword, bringing death to many a household, and he has slain the noblest of them all. The Arabs spend their hours in talking and arguing while the Ujiji and Karagwa roads are more firmly closed than ever. Indeed, many of the influential Arabs are talking of returning to Zanzibar, saying Union Yembe is ruined. Meanwhile, with poor success, however, perceiving the impossibility of procuring Wanyamezi Pagasis, I am hiring the Wangwana renegades living in Union Yembe to proceed with me to Ujiji at treble prizes. Each man is offered thirty Doti, ordinary hire of a carrier being only from five to ten Doti to Ujiji. I want fifty men. I intend to leave about sixty or seventy loads here under charge of a guard. I shall leave all personal baggage behind, except one small portmanteau. August 28. No news today of Marambo. Shaw is getting strong again. Shaik bin Nasib called on me today, but, except on minor philosophy, he had nothing to say. I have determined, after a study of the country, to lead a flying caravan to Ujiji by a southern road through northern Ukonongo and Ukabendi. Shaik bin Nasib has been informed tonight of this determination. August 29. Shaw got up today for a little work, alas, all my fine-spun plans of proceeding by boat over the Victoria Nyanza, then Stan and Isle, have been totally demolished, I fear, through this war with Marambo, this black Bonaparte. Two months have been wasted here already. The Arabs take such a long time to come to a conclusion. Advice is plentiful, and words are as numerous as the blades of grass in our valley. All that is wanting is decision. The Arabs' hope and stay is dead. Kamiz bin Abdullah is no more. Where are the other warriors of whom the Wangwana and Manyamesi Barts sing? Where is mighty Qisesa, great Abdullah bin Nasib? Where is Said, the son of Majid? Qisesa is in Zanzibar, and Said, the son of Majid, is in Ujiji, as yet ignorant that his son has fallen in the forest of William Coor. Shaw is improving fast. I am unsuccessful as yet in procuring soldiers. I almost despair of ever being able to move from here. It is such a drowsy, sleepy, slow, dreaming country. Arabs, Wangwana, Manyamesi are all alike. All careless how time flies. Their tomorrow means sometimes within a month. To me, it is simply maddening. August 30. Shaw will not work. I cannot get him to stir himself. I have petted him and coaxed him. I have even cooked little luxuries for him myself. And, while I am straining every nerve to get ready for Ujiji, Shaw is satisfied with looking on, listlessly. What a change from the ready-handed bold man he was at Zanzibar. I sat down by his side today with my palm and needle in order to encourage him. And today, for the first time, I told him of the real nature of my mission. I told him that I did not care about the geography of the country half as much as I cared about finding Livingston. I told him for the first time. Now, my dear Shaw, you think probably that I have been sent here to find the death of the Zanjanika. Not a bit of it, man. I was told to find Livingston. It is to find Livingston I am here. It is to find Livingston I am going. Don't you see, old fellow, the importance of the mission? Don't you see what reward you will get from Mr. Bennett if you will help me? I am sure if ever you come to New York, you will never be in want of a fifty dollar bill. So shake yourself. Jump about. Look lively. Say you will not die. Let us half the battle. Snap your fingers at the fever. I will guarantee the fever won't kill you. I have medicine enough for a regiment here. His eyes lit up a little, but a light that shone in them shortly faded and died. I was quite disheartened. I made some strong punch to put fire in his veins that I might see life in him. I put sugar and eggs and seasoned it with lemon and spice. Drink, Shaw, said I, and forget your infirmities. You are not sick, dear fellow. It is only enemy you are feeling. Look at Salim here. Now, I will bet any amount that he will not die, that I will carry him home safe to his friends. I will carry you home also, if you will let me. September 1st. According to Tani Bin Abdullah, whom I visited at his tembe in Mauro, Marambo lost two hundred men in the attack upon Tabora, while the Arabs losses were five Arabs, thirteen free men and eight slaves, besides three tembes and over one hundred small huts burned, two hundred and eighty ivory tusks, and sixty cows and bullocks captured. September 3rd. Received a packet of letters and newspapers from Captain Webb at Zanzibar. What a good thing it is that once friends, even in far America, think of the absent one in Africa. They tell me that no one dreams of my being in Africa yet. I applied to Sheikh bin Nasib today to permit Livingston's caravan to go under my charge to Ujiji, but he would not listen to it. He says he feels certain I am going to my death. September 4th. Sure is quite well today, he says. Salim is down with the fever. My force is gradually increasing, though some of my old soldiers are falling off. Umgareza is blind. Baruti has the smallpox very badly. Sadala has the intermittent. September 5th. Baruti died this morning. He was one of my best soldiers, and was one of those men who accompanied to speak to Egypt. Baruti is number seven of those who have died since leaving Zanzibar. Today my ears have been poisoned with the reports of the Arabs about the state of the country I am about to travel through. The roads are bad, they are all stopped, the ruga-rua are out in the forests, the wakanongo are coming from the south to help Marambo, the washenzi are at war, one tribe against another. My men are getting dispirited, they have imbibed the fears of the Arabs and the Wanyamezi. Bombay begins to feel that I had better go back to the coast and try again some other time. We buried Baruti under the shade of the banyan tree, a few yards west of my tembe. The grave was made four and a half feet deep and three feet wide. At the bottom, on one side, a narrow trench was excavated into which the body was rolled on its side with its face turned towards Mecca. The body was dressed in a doti and a half of new American cheating. After it was placed properly in its narrow bed, a sloping roof of sticks covered over with matting and old canvas was made to prevent the earth from falling over the body. The grave was then filled, the soldiers laughing merrily. On the top of the grave was planted a small shrub and into a small hole made with the hand was poured water, lest he might feel thirsty, they said, on his way to paradise. Water was then sprinkled all over the grave and the gourd broken. This ceremony being ended, the men recited the Arabic fatta, after which they left the grave at that comrade to think no more of him. September 7. An Arab named Muhammad presented me today with a little boy's slave called Ndugumali, my brother's wealth. As I did not like the name, I called the cheese of my caravan together and asked him to give him a better name. One suggested Simba, a lion. Another said he thought Gombe, a cow, would suit the boy child. Another thought he ought to be called Marambo, which raised a loud laugh. Gombe thought Gombe Mdogo would suit my black-skinned infant very well. Ulimengo, however, after looking at his quick eyes and noting a celerity of movement, pronounced the name Kallula as the best for him. Because, said he, just look at his eyes, so bright. Look at his form, so slim. Watch his movements, how quick. Yes, Kallula is his name. Yes, Banna, said the others, let it be Kallula. Kallula is a Kizabahili term for the young of the blue book, per Prusila antelope. Well then, said I, water being brought in a huge, thin pan. Salim, who was willing to stand Godfather holding him over the water, let his name henceforth be Kallula, and let no man take it from him. And thus it was, that the little black boy of Mohammed's came to be called Kallula. The expedition is increasing in numbers. With quite an alarm before dark, much firing was heard at Tabora, which led us to anticipate an attack on Quihara. It turned out, however, to be a salute fired in honour of the arrival of Sultan Kitambi to pay a visit to Kaziba, Sultan of Unyanyembe. September 8. Towards night, Shaik bin Nasib received a letter from an Arab at Nfoto, reporting that an attack was made on that place by Mirambo and his Wattuta allies. It also warned him to bid the people of Quihara hold themselves in readiness, because if Mirambo succeeded in storming Nfoto, he would march direct on Quihara. September 9. Mirambo was defeated with severe loss yesterday in his attack upon Nfoto. He was successful in an assault he made upon a small Wanyamezi village, but when he attempted to storm Nfoto, he was repulsed with severe loss, losing three of his principal men. Upon withdrawing his forces from the attack, the inhabitants sallied out and followed him to the forest of Umanda, where he was again utterly routed, himself ingloriously flying from the field. The heads of his chief men slain in the attack were brought to Quikuru, the Bulma of Kaziba. September 14. The Arab boy Salim is delirious from constant fever. Shao is sick again. These two occupy most of my time. I am turned into a regular nurse, for I have no one to assist me in attending upon them. If I try to instruct Abdul Qadir in the art of being useful, his head is so befocked with the villainous fumes of Umamezi tobacco that he wonders bewildered about, breaking dishes and upsetting cooked dainties, until I get so exasperated that my peace of mind is broken completely for a full hour. If I ask Faraji, my now formally constituted cook, to assist, his thick wooden head fails to receive an idea, and I am thus obliged to play the part of Shaif the cuisine. September 15. The third month of my residence in Umrenyembe is almost finished, and I am still here, but I hope to be gone before the twenty-third instant. All last night, until nine a.m. this morning, my soldiers danced and sang to the names of their dead comrades, whose bones now bleach in the forests of Ulyankuru. Two or three huge pots of Pomme failed to satisfy their raging thirst, which the vigorous exercise they were engaged in created. So, early this morning, I was called upon to contribute a sugar for another potful of the potent liquor. Today I was busy selecting the loads for each soldier and pagasi. In order to lighten their labour as much as possible, I reduced each load from seventy pounds to fifty pounds, by which I hope to be enabled to make some long marches. I have been able to engage ten pagasis during the last two or three days. I have two or three men still very sick, and it is almost useless to expect that they will be able to carry anything, but I am in hopes that other men may be engaged to take their places before the actual day of departure, which now seems to be drawing near rapidly. September 16th. We have almost finished our work. On the fifth day from this, God willing, we shall march. I engaged two more pagasis besides two guides, named Asmani and Maruki. If vastness of the human form could terrify anyone, certainly Asmani's appearance is well calculated to produce that effect. He stands considerably over six feet without shoes, and has shoulders broad enough for two ordinary men. Tomorrow, I mean to give the people a farewell feast to celebrate our departure from this forbidding and unhappy country. September 17th. The banquet is ended. I slaughtered two bullocks, and had a barbecue, three sheep, two goats, and fifteen chickens, one hundred and twenty pounds of rice, twenty large loaves of bread made of Indian corn flour, one hundred eggs, ten pounds of butter, and five gallons of sweet milk, where the contents of which the banquet was formed. The men invited their friends and neighbors, and about one hundred women and children partook of it. After the banquet was ended, the Pompey, or native beer, was brought in, in five gallon pots, and the people commenced their dance, which continues even now as I write. September 19th. I had a slight attack of fever today, which has postponed our departure. Salim and Sho are both recovered. About eight p.m. Shaik bin Nasib came to me, imploring me not to go away tomorrow because I was so sick. Tani Sakburi suggested to me that I might stay another month. In answer, I told them that white men are not accustomed to break their words. I had said I would go, and I intended to go. Shaik bin Nasib gave up all hope of inducing me to remain another day, and he has gone away, with a promise to write to Said Bukash to tell him how obstinate I am, and that I am determined to be killed. This was a parting shot. About 10 p.m. the fever had gone. All were asleep in the timber but myself, and an unutterable loneliness came on me as I reflected on my position and my intentions, and felt the utter lack of sympathy with me in all around. It requires more nerve than I possess to dispel all the dark presentiments that come upon the mind. But probably what I call presentiments are simply the impress on the mind of the warnings which these false-hearted Arabs have repeated so often. This melancholy and loneliness, I feel, may probably have their origin from the same cause. The single candle which barely lights up the dark shade that fills the corners of my room is but a poor incentive to cheerfulness. I feel as though I were imprisoned between stone walls. But why should I feel as if baited by these stupid slow-witted Arabs and their warnings and croakings? I fancy a suspicion haunts my mind as I write that there lies some motive behind all this. I wonder if these Arabs tell me all these things to keep me here in the hope that I might be induced another time to assist them in their war with Marambo. If they think so, they are much mistaken, for I have taken a solemn and enduring oath, an oath to be kept while the least hope of life remains in me, not to be tempted to break the resolution I have formed, never to give up the search until I find Livingston alive or find his dead body, and never to return home without the strongest possible proofs that he is alive or that he is dead. No living man or living man shall stop me, only death can prevent me. But death, not even this, I shall not die, I will not die, I cannot die. And something tells me I do not know whether it is, perhaps it is the ever-living hopefulness of my own nature, perhaps it is the natural presumption born out of an abundant and glowing vitality, or the outcome of an overweening confidence in oneself. Anyhow and everyhow, something tells me tonight I shall find him, and, right at larger, find him, find him. Even the words are inspiring, I feel more happy. Have I uttered a prayer? I shall sleep calmly tonight. I have felt myself compelled to copy out of my diary the above notes, as they explain, written as they are on the spot, the vicissitudes of my life at Unenjembe. To me they appear to explain far better than any amount of descriptive writing, even of the most graphic, the nature of the life I led. There they are, unexaturated in their literality, precisely as I conceived them at the time they happened. They speak of fevers without number to myself and men. They relate our dangers and little joys, our annoyances and our pleasures, as they occurred.