CHAPTER XXXV. FROM THE VICTORIA NYANZA TO ZANZIBAR.
Missionary work along the shores of the Victoria Nyanza and along the Congo River—The road from Mackay’s Mission—The country at Gengé—Considerable difficulty at preserving the peace at Kungu—Rupture of peace at Ikoma—Capture and release of Monangwa—The Wasukuma warriors attack us, but finally retire—Treachery—The natives follow us from Nera to Seké—We enter the district of Sinyanga: friendship between the natives and our men—Continued aggression of the natives—Heavy tributes—Massacre of a caravan—The district of Usongo, and its chief Mittinginya—His surroundings and neighbours—Two French missionaries overtake us—Human skulls at Ikungu—We meet one of Tippu-Tib’s caravans from Zanzibar—Troubled Ugogo—Lieut. Schmidt welcomes us at the German station of Mpwapwa—Emin Pasha visits the Pères of the French mission of San Esprit—The Fathers unacquainted with Emin’s repute—Our mails in Africa continually going astray—Contents of some newspaper clippings—Baron von Gravenreuth and others meet us at Msua—Arrival of an Expedition with European provisions, clothing and boots for us—Major Wissman—He and Schmidt take Emin and myself on to Bagamoyo—Dinner and guests at the German officers’ mess-house—Major Wissman proposes the healths of the guests; Emin’s and my reply to the same—Emin’s accident—I visit Emin in the hospital—Surgeon Parke’s report—The feeling at Bagamoyo—Embark for Zanzibar—Parting words with Emin Pasha—Illness of Doctor Parke—Emin Pasha enters the service of the German Government—Emin Pasha’s letter to Sir John Kirk—Sudden termination of Emin’s acquaintance with me—Three occasions when I apparently offended Emin—Emin’s fears that he would be unemployed—The British East African Company and Emin—Courtesy and hospitality at Zanzibar—Moneys due to the survivors of the Relief Expedition—Tippu-Tib’s agent at Zanzibar, Jaffar Tarya—The Consular Judge grants me an injunction against Jaffar Tarya—At Cairo—Conclusion.
1889.
Sept. 16.
Victoria
Nyanza.
1889.
Sept. 17.
Victoria
Nyanza.
It is fifteen years ago this month since I first saw this Victorian Sea, and launched my boat on its waters, and sailed along the shores, peering into the bays and creeks, and mapping out the area. Six months later those two journals, the “Daily Telegraph” and “New York Herald” published the fact to every person who could afford the small sum of one penny, that the greatest Lake of Africa had been explored, and that at the north end of the Lake there was an African King ruling three millions of cleanly people, who cried out that he was in darkness and required light. And some good men heard the cry, and responded to it nobly. They sent missionaries to the King, and for years they taught him and his people, at first with little success, but by-and-by some of the seed fell upon good soil, and it took root and flourished, and despite the tares and the thistles and rank grasses that grew in the virgin soil, there was a good harvest.
In turning towards the sea, the thought came across my mind that elsewhere on the Congo, for 1400 miles from the western ocean, it had been permitted to me to float the steamers along that river, and build the Stations on its banks, which in 1887 were to be of great service to me to carry myself and my followers along the great river, and to offer shelter where we should meet with welcome and hospitality in the same manner, as this Missionary Station, which we were about to leave, had received us in 1889 with honour and regard. Truly I felt inclined to use the metaphor of the Preacher, and to admit that the bread I had cast upon the waters had returned to me abundantly after many days.
I do not propose to linger long over the lands intervening between Lake Victoria and Bagamoyo. I have already described them, and it is needless to repeat what is already written.
1889.
Sept. 18.
Gengé
The road from Mackay’s Mission takes a south-easterly direction in order to cross the little stream, which as it approaches the creek at the south-eastward of Lake Victoria forms a swamp about five yards wide. It then turns northerly, runs parallel with the creek a little way, and then strikes easterly over a low plain, where the soil seems to be so poor as to grow a grass not much higher than rock moss. The 500 yards wide swamp reminded me that the French missionaries, since their settlement near the Lake at Bukumbi, have ascertained that the Lake is now three feet lower than when they first settled here—that is about eleven years ago—that Ukerewé is no longer an island but is a peninsula. If this be true, and there is no reason to doubt it, and assuming that the decrease of the Lake has been uniform, a decrease of fifty feet in the Lake has required 183 years. At the time when Frederick the Great was crowned King of Prussia Lake Victoria must have been over 40,000 square miles in extent. It covers now, by this last discovery at the south-western extremity of the Lake, as near as I am able to measure it 26,900 square miles.
The appearance of the country at Gengé, which had steadily improved since leaving the neighbourhood of Makolo inlet, suggested to our coloured people that the missionaries had not made a wise choice in settling in Usambiro. They did not reflect that the more populous a district in Usukuma, or Unyamwezi is, it becomes less tenable to poor missionaries, that the taxes, demands, and blackmail of the headstrong and bumptious chief would soon be so onerous that starvation would be imminent and the oppression unbearable.
1889.
Sept. 20.
Ikoma.
As, for instance, we reached Ikoma on the 20th. At Gengé and at Kungu we had considerable difficulty in preserving the peace. The path was beset by howling mobs, who came up dancing and uttering war-cries. This mattered very little, but some demon of a youth was mischievous enough to push both parties into a wordy war about whether we were cannibals or not. They took the cicatrices on the Soudanese’s features as proof that they were maneaters, and maneaters had no business in their country. But while something like a camp was being formed, though bush was scarce, and grass was not to be discovered, there came a follower of the Egyptians, a sinister-looking object; an arrow had pierced his arm, his head was gashed with an axe, he had been robbed of his clothes and allowance of cloth at Zanzibar, and his rifle. Two words were only needed to have amply revenged him. We pocketed it, and many another insult that day, and the next we marched to Ikoma, the residential district of the chief, and naturally, being the seat of power, it was four times more populous.
Our business at Ikoma was very simple. Mr. Mackay had informed us that Mr. Stokes, the English ivory trader, had a station there, that the principal chief, Malissa, was his friend, and that at this station Mr. Stokes had a supply of European provisions—biscuits, butter, ham, bacon, &c.—that he wished to dispose of. Well, we were ten Europeans in number, every one of whom was blessed with devouring appetites. We agreed to call that way and purchase them at any cost, and Mr. Mackay furnished us with two Zanzibari guides. Therefore, though the Kungu natives had been dangerously insolent, we thought that at Malissa’s, the friend of Stokes, we should be asked to overlook the matter, as being mere noisy ebullitions of a few intractable youths.
Before us, in the centre of a plain which three or four centuries ago, perhaps, was covered with the waters of Lake Victoria, there rose what must have been once a hilly island, but now the soil had been thoroughly scoured away, and left the frame of the island only in ridges of grey gneissic rock, and ruined heaps of monoliths and boulders and vast rock fragments, and under the shadow, and between these in narrow levels, were grouped a population of about 5000 people; and within sound of musket-shot, or blare of horn, or ringing cries, were congeries of hamlets out on the plain round about this natural fortress, and each hamlet surrounded by its own milk-weed hedge. In the plain west of the isleted rock-heaps, I counted twenty-three separate herds of cattle, besides flocks of sheep and goats, and we concluded that Ikoma was prosperous, and secure in its vast population and its impregnable rock-piles.
As we drew near there came scores of sleek and merry youths and girls, who kept laughing and giggling and romping about us like healthy, guileless young creatures, enjoying their youth and life. We travelled up a smooth easy pass flanked by piles of rocks rising to 200 feet above us, which narrowed somewhat as we approached the chief’s village. Presently a multitude of warriors came forward on the double quick towards us, making a brave display of feathers, shining spears, and floating robes, and drew up in front of the column to drive it back. They were heard shrilly screaming and sputtering their orders to the guides, who were telling them that we were only a caravan—friends of Stokes and Malissa; but the madmen drowned every word with storms of cries, and menaced the guides and men of the advance. I walked up to ascertain what was the matter, and I became an object to some fellows, who raced at me with levelled spears. One man seized my rifle; two Zanzibaris came up to my assistance, and tore the rifle from his hands; bows were drawn, and spears were lifted; two of our men were wounded, and in a second we were engaged in clearing the crowd away. In this close mêlée about ten lives were lost, and a Monangwa was captured. After this burst of hostility there would be no chance of purchasing provisions, and as the rocks had already begun to be lined with musketeers and bowmen, we had to withdraw as quickly as possible from the pass, and form camp somewhere before we should be overwhelmed.
We found a pool of water near the end of the loose rock ridges; a huge monolith or two stood upright like Druids’ stones outside. We completed the circle with bales and boxes, and grassy huts, and camped to wait the upshot.
From our camp we could see the ancient bed of the Lake spreading out for a distance of many miles. Every half-mile or so there was a large cluster of hamlets, each separated from the other by hedges of milk-weed. The plain separating these clusters was common pasture ground, and had been cropped by hungry herds as low as stone moss. On our way to the camp a herd of cattle had been captured, but they had been released; we had a Monangwa in our hands, and we asked him what all this was about. He could not, or he would not, answer. We clothed him in fine cloths, and sent him away to tell Malissa that we were white men, friends of Stokes, that we had many Wasukuma porters in our caravan, and that we had no intention of fighting anybody, but of going to the coast as quickly as possible. The chief was escorted within a quarter of a mile of Malissa’s village, and released. He did not return, but during the day there were several efforts made to annoy us, until at 4 P.M., from the north, east and south, appeared three separate multitudes, for a great effort. It was then the machine-gun was prepared.
The Wasukuma swayed closer up, but cautiously, and, it appeared to me, reluctantly. In front of the mob coming from the south were several skirmishers, who pranced forward to within 300 yards. One of the skirmishers was dropped, and the machine showered about a hundred and fifty rounds in their direction. Not one of the natives was hit, but the great range and bullet shower was enough. They fled; a company was sent out to meet the eastern mob, another was sent to threaten the crowd to the north, and the Wasukuma yielded and finally retired. Only one native was killed out of this demonstration made by probably 2000 warriors.
We had other things to do than fight Wasukuma, and therefore on the 21st we resumed the coastward march. We had been disappointed in obtaining those provisions of ham and bacon, and Malissa had lost his gifts of cloth which we had made ready for him.
We were not long on the march before the entire population of Urima seemed to be gathering on our flanks, and at 8 A.M. a dash was made on the column. There was not much necessity of telling the Egyptians and their followers to keep close together. Nothing could be better than their behaviour for our purpose. They were gathered in a close packed mob. In front of them were two companies, and in rear was the rearguard, Bonny’s Soudanese, and Shukri Agha’s company. The Wasukuma could make no impression whatever on the column had they been treble their number, and yet they seemed to be so sure that in some manner they would be able to do something. But we continued on our way, pursued on flank and in rear until noon, when we reached Muanza, on the edge of Jordan’s Nullah, which was a crooked rift in the old lacustrine deposit forty yards wide and thirty feet deep, whence water was obtained from pits in the sand.
As the natives hovered round us we thought that we should make another trial to cause them to abate their fierce rancour, and we sent Poli-Poli, the chief Wasukuma guide, to talk to him. Poli-Poli literally means, “Go gently, gently.” An hour’s crying out from a distance succeeded in inducing a Monangwa and four of his men to approach and enter our camp, and the camp was so absorbed with this arrival and prospect of a happy termination to the “war.” While we were exchanging tokens of good will and professions of peace, and cutting out some cloth for them, as an earnest of our intentions, the Wasukuma had been allowed to approach. The Monangwa, and his friends had left my tent about five minutes, perfectly satisfied apparently, when I heard about fifty rifle shots fired in volleys. Running out I found that the enemy was right among us. One of our men was dying from a spear wound, our goats were in full flight, being driven away on the run, the bottom of the nullah was covered with leaping forms. We had a very narrow escape from serious loss; but seven natives were killed within ten yards of the camp, the treacherous Monangwa received a bullet in the shoulder and lost his cloth, and we recovered our goats.
We marched on the next morning at the usual hour; the villages were arranged on each side of our track in one continued series, and the population of S. Nera turned out en masse. But the natives confined themselves to following us in a dense column stretching for quite two miles, every now and then firing at us from heavily loaded muskets. For three hours we continued in this manner, until as we were about leaving Nera, and entering Mamara, they uttered a series of war-cries, and made another effort. Dropping our loads we raced towards them, and in a minute’s time they were on the full trot in retreat. We lifted our loads and resumed our journey; but the natives presently re-collected, and followed us on the flanks as far as Seké—a fatiguing march of six hours.
On the 23rd we proceeded from N. Seké to Seke Kwikuru, or Seke the capital, vast crowds hanging on our flanks as before. Though we knew that trifling mercies, such as we were able to show, seldom made any impression on tribes quivering under extraordinary excitement and rage for battle, nevertheless we abstained from needlessly augmenting this causeless madness against us, and only halted a few minutes to repel a rush.
1889.
Sept. 22.
Seké.
We were all in sad want of water and rest. Our cattle and riding animals had not been watered for two days, and at Seké the water was brackish and scarce. The sun was at its hottest. Our faces were baked and cracking. The grass was so short that the cattle were feeding upon the roots to obtain subsistence.
The next day was a halt. The natives appeared to within 800 yards of our camp; but after a few shots they dispersed, and we were left to enjoy the first rest gained after seven days’ continuous travel and fighting.
Entering Sinyanga on the 25th, we were welcomed with “lu-lu-lus” by the women, and as they had heard all about our “little war” with Usukuma, every elder we met expressed a hope that we had cleared the wicked people out, for they were always a cursed lot, bothering travellers and strangers.
As we marched from one petty district to another, each independent from the other, governed by its own chief and council of elders, exclusive from its own peculiar customs, habits, or passion, varying differently from the other according to the age, intelligence, and disposition of the chief, our duties and rule of conduct varied. We moved through petty spheres, wherein our duties varied according to the demands made upon us. Here was the small district of Sinyanga with a population not exceeding 2000. The chief and his headmen were as proud of their little state as any monarch and his senate might be of an empire. The chief was conscious of weakness, and that imprudent aggressiveness would prove speedy ruin; but he exacted his dues all the same. We paid them freely and with kindly words. The chief reciprocated the kindness, returned a gift to mark his pleasure, then his people flocked to the camp to exchange their grain and produce for cloth and beads, during which many a friendship and brotherly act was formed between the natives and our men.
1889.
Sept. 25.
Sinyanga.
In Urima and Nera again, even on its frontiers, they pounced down on us like wolves, with war-cries and insulting by-plays. Our flanks were thronged with hooting warriors and jeering youths and fleering girls; they annoyed us by gestures, wounded our sense of hearing by shrill insolent screams and savage taunts. All this may be borne with equanimity. Words do not hurt, but it makes us circumspect and reticent. When we arrive in camp the mobs are greater; a knot of lusty long-legged youths hang about the tents, flourish their weapons, blow their shrill war-flutes, and artfully pursue a cunning system of annoyance. All this is due to the belief that our forbearance means fear. They look around and see their numbers fourfold more than our own. They whisper to one another like village louts and bullies, “What a pity that we can’t kick up a row. Ah, if there was, I would soon make myself master of that cloth, or that gun, or the things in those boxes, &c., &c.” The chief is carried away by this consuming desire, and relying upon the assurances that it would be an easy matter to make a row and find an excuse, he commits himself to some imprudent scheme, and, when too late, mourns the failure but not the event. They cannot plead ignorance as the new tribes can. Fifteen years ago I travelled through Usukuma, paying no more than ten or twelve cloths to any chief, and receiving a good ox or a couple of goats in return. Since that time, however, missionary after missionary, both English and French, and Arab caravans have made Usukuma a highway to the Victoria Lake. The tributes have been raised by the chief to 300 doti—£90 per petty district. To three petty districts the French missionaries were compelled to pay 900 doti of cloth—£270. £270 sterling on three days’ journey! These cloths will purchase guns which will make them still more formidable to missionaries, and the result will be in a few years that a small tribal chief will demand every scrap of cloth in the caravan, and will halt it until it is paid, as Usui stopped a caravan of 150 guns.
1889.
Sept. 25.
Sinyanga.
Khambi Mbya—a nickname of an Arab who camped in Nera two years ago—was homeward bound from Uganda with his ivory. The tribute had been paid. A little personal dispute followed soon after between a woman of the camp, and a herdsman at a pool, as to whether the woman should take water first, or the cattle. The herdsman raised the war-cry, which resulted in the massacre of every man, woman, and child in the caravan.
Messrs. Ashe and Walker, C.M.S. missionaries, were seized, I am told, by one of these petty chiefs, and detained until they were ransomed by Mackay. Mr. Stokes, who is compelled by his business of trading in ivory, like many an Arab trader before him, to be patient and long-suffering, must have experienced many unhappy moments when he saw his carriers dropping their bales and flying before a noisy mob of bullies. The French missionaries have abandoned Usambiro Station, and taken their residence in Bukumbi. Mr. Mackay has left Msalala, and built a station at Makolo’s. If these natives possessed any sense, or could have been touched by shame after being so generously treated and honoured by these missionaries, they would not drive them away by extortion and oppression.
On the 4th of October we arrived at Stokes’ boma, in the country of his friend Mittinginya. The king’s capital lies about three-fourths of a mile to the south-east, and is a square enclosure of wattle and mud. Bullets might be rained against the walls for weeks without disastrous effects to those within, and provided the defenders had fuel, food, and water sufficient, and were properly vigilant, these fort-like structures would be impregnable except against cannon. The district of Usongo, of which Mittinginya is chief, is studded pretty thickly with these structures, and excepting the stubborn old baobab no bush or plant obstructs the view between each tembé.
1889
Oct. 4.
Usongo.
The chief has the faculty of getting embroiled with his neighbours, or his neighbours must be unusually quarrelsome, or they mutually suffer from an innate restlessness which drives them one against the other with angry muskets. To the north is a chief called Simba, to the west he has the people of Uyogu, behind these he has Kapera and his allies the Watuta or Wangoni,—Equatorial Zulus; to the south the predatory Wataturu, descendants of Somalis; to the north-east Wandui; and we accidentally stumbled into this hornet’s nest of angry tribes, led to do it by reports of Mittinginya’s good nature, and in the hope that we should be able to obtain a few carriers for our ever-wailing Egyptians.
To emphasize the visible unrest here, the chief has invited a horde of wild Masai from the district of Lyteri, west of Kilima-Njaro, to assist him in his ambitious projects. The Masai had already distinguished themselves against the Watuta-Zulus; the Wanduis had become as dumb-dogs. Seeing quiet strangers owning donkeys, the Masai quietly made themselves masters of four, which however they were compelled to return, and after eight days’ halt we were able to leave Stokes’s friend with his hornets humming round him, with twenty fresh carriers to carry the ulcerous Egyptians without being implicated in any feud.
On the 17th we entered Ikungu, where we were overtaken by two French missionaries, Pères Girault and Schintze,[35] who were invalids—it was said, homeward bound and were desirous of availing themselves of our escort to the sea.
1889.
Oct. 17.
Ikungu.
Around the milk-weed hedges that surrounded the chief’s village were over a hundred human skulls, while innumerable fragments strewed the vicinity. Inquiring what calamity had occurred, I was told they were the remains of a tribe of Wanyaturu, over 400 strong, who had fled to Ikungu from Ituru, in the hope of saving themselves from famine. What articles they had brought with them were soon sold for food which they consumed, and then they sold their children and their wives, and when they had nothing left they died. The children were of mulatto colour, and very superior to the sable urchins of Unyamwezi.
We met a caravan from Zanzibar at this place belonging to Tippu-Tib, and the Manyuema reported that the coast war between the Germans and Coast Arabs was still proceeding, but that the Germans had commenced to be victorious.
On the 26th we entered Muhalala, and by the 8th of November we had passed through Ugogo. There is no country in Africa that has excited greater interest in me than this. It is a ferment of trouble and distraction, and a vermin of petty annoyances beset the travellers from day to day while in it. No natives know so well how to aggrieve and be unpleasant to travellers. One would think there was a school somewhere in Ugogo to teach low cunning and vicious malice to the chiefs, who are masters in foxy-craft. Nineteen years ago I looked at this land and people with desiring eyes. I saw in it a field worth some effort to reclaim. In six months I felt sure Ugogo could be made lovely and orderly, a blessing to the inhabitants and to strangers, without any very great expense or trouble; it would become a pleasant highway of human intercourse with far-away peoples, productive of wealth to the natives, and comfort to caravans. I learned on arrival in Ugogo that I was for ever debarred from the hope. It is to be the destiny of the Germans to carry out this work, and I envy them. It is the worst news of all that I shall never be able to drain this cesspool of iniquitous passion, and extinguish the insolence of Wagogo chiefs, and make the land clean, healthy, and even beautiful of view. While my best wishes will accompany German efforts, my mind is clouded with a doubt that it ever will be that fair land of rest and welcome I had dreamed of making it.
1889.
Oct. 26.
Ugogo.
Two days beyond Ugogo we entered the German Station of Mpwapwa, and were welcomed by Lieutenant Rochus Schmidt, who had arrived about a month previous, escorted by Major Wissman, who was said to be the Imperial Commissary of German East Africa. He had already erected a stone breastwork around his little camp, which contained 100 Zulus, on a commanding but windy spot that must needs be fatal to many a white officer whose misfortune it may be to be appointed Military Commandant of Mpwapwa.
The Rev. Mr. Price paid us a visit, and among other benefits resulting from his presence we obtained a year’s issue of the ‘Weekly Times.’ In turning over the pages of the voluminous history of the past year, I was impressed by nothing more than by the smoothness and easy groove in which events were running, without jar or sensible vibration. The hum of their travel seemed to be like that which we hear on a drowsy summer’s day at a country house in England, remote from the roll of street traffic and the thundering rush of express trains. A distant murmuring sound of railway waggons gliding over a pair of rails impresses the dull ear, amid the quiet and repose, that the world is spinning safely along without rack or tear. England was still at anchor amidst the silver seas; the Empire was where it ought to be; Europe was amusing herself with peaceful drill, and America was gathering her splendid harvests, and filling the Treasury cellars with gold ingots and silver bricks.
1889.
Oct. 26.
Ugogo.
On the 13th, accompanied by Lieutenant Schmidt, the Expedition, about 700 strong, moved from Mpwapwa towards the coast, and five days later exchanged the parched aspect of the thorny wilderness of the interior for one that was fragrant with the perfume of lilies, and pleasant with the verdure of spring. After a two hours’ march from Muini Usagara, we defiled out of the Mukondokwa Valley, and emerged into the plain of the Makata, the sight of which, with its green grass and pleasant shady trees and many groups of villages, after four months of droughty views, roused the enthusiasm of each of our officers. A Père from the French Mission near Ferahani, established near the base of the mountains, brought us a few welcome articles with their compliments and good wishes.
At Vianzi, two marches later, supplies reached us from Major Wissman. They consisted of such assortments of provisions that only an explorer of experience would have known would be most appreciated, and in such prodigal abundance that our camp tables hence to the coast were loaded with luxuries.
On the 23rd we arrived at Simbamwenni, which is a town surrounded with a mud wall enclosing about 400 conical houses. During the next day’s halt Lieut. Schmidt escorted Emin Pasha to see the good Pères of the French Mission of San Esprit, who have commenced to work at Morogoro with the same earnest thoroughness that has made their establishment at Bagamoyo so famous. They have planted oranges, mangoes, plantains, vanilla, cinnamon and coffee, and almost all fruits known in tropical lands, and have led a clear and bounteous stream of water through their little estate.
Lieutenant Schmidt informed me that he was somewhat taken aback at the fact that the Fathers, in their intense devotion to their own religious duties, were unacquainted with the repute of his illustrious companion. A Père had asked him in a whisper, after eyeing the Pasha in wonder, “Can he speak anything but Arabic?” and was astounded when he heard, with that warmth so characteristic of young straightforward German officers, that he could not only speak Arabic, but could speak French, English, German, Turkish, Italian and Greek, with easy fluency, and that he was German by birth.
“Indeed! And is his expedition commercial, scientific, or military?”
Then Lieutenant Schmidt, all amazed at the extraordinary seclusion of the pious recluse, had to relate the whole story, and for the first time he knew what business had brought me on my third visit to this region.
1889.
Nov. 24.
Simbawenni.
The Pasha, who enjoyed the relation of the story, was asked to be comforted, and for his solace I related how I had been introduced by a Canon of Westminster Abbey to a well-known bishop—as one who had done some good work on the Congo. The bishop hesitated a minute, and then said blandly, “Ah, indeed, how very interesting! But pray tell me where is the Congo.” But sometimes laymen were found to be as ignorant of Africa as bishops, as for instance the British Cabinet Minister, who, receiving a commercial deputation from Manchester, relating to some grievances on the Niger, calmly pointed the speaker to a map of Africa, and asked him to be good enough to show the river in which the great city of Manchester appeared to be so interested.
On the 27th we arrived at Ungerengeri, and for the first time we received a few letters. Never had any such fatality attended mails in Africa as had attended ours. Three several times I had requested our friends to despatch our letters to Msalala, south end of Lake Victoria, bearing legibly a superscription to the effect that they were “to be left until called for.” Bushels of mails had been sent, and every packet but one, containing three letters, had been lost in Unyoro, Uganda, and Bushiri, an opponent of Major Wissman, had captured others.
Among many newspaper clippings received, was one which was a tissue of perverted truths. It appeared to have been sent from Zanzibar by a native clerk in a telegram. It read as follows:
Zanzibar, June 12th, 1889.
“Stanley is reported to have arrived in Ururi, where he rested a few days. He returned to Lake Victoria, leaving behind him fifty-six sick men and forty-four rifles. Many of the sick had died. Shortly after Mitchell arrived and took away the rifles. Stanley was reported to have suffered serious losses from sickness and want of food. Later Stanley came himself. Emin Pasha is reported to be in Unyara, north-east of Lake Victoria, fifteen days’ march. Stanley having picked up all the men who were left, returned to Emin after having given a letter to the writer to convey to the Agent-General of the Company.”
1889.
Nov. 27.
Ungerengeri.
The précis of the intelligence received having been doctored by a writer at Zanzibar, rendered the message still more unintelligible. The intelligence was received at Zanzibar by an agent of the ivory raider, Ugarrowwa, and was intended to read thus:
“Stanley has arrived on the Ituri (River). He proceeded on his way to Lake Albert after leaving fifty-six sick men and forty-four rifles with me. Most of these sick men died a short time afterwards.
“Mazinga (Lieut. Stairs) came here and took away the rifles. I was informed that Stanley suffered serious losses from sickness and famine. Finally Stanley came here in person.
“Emin Pasha is reported to be in Unyoro, north-east, a fifteen-days’ march from here (Ugarrowwa’s Station). Stanley having picked up all the men who were left (of the rear column), returned to Emin, having given a letter to me to give the Consul-General. (Ugarrowwa was anxious to obtain a letter of introduction to the Consul, he being known at Zanzibar as Uledi Balyuz, or the Consul’s Uledi, in contradistinction to other Uledis, who are as common as Smiths in England.”)
What with atrocities on the Aruwimi; Stanley’s death by seventeen arrows; communications from an officer of the Congo Free State; letters from missionaries and engineers; Osman Digna’s report of the capture of Emin Pasha and another white man; invasions of the Soudan by a white Pasha, &c., there is a good reason why English editors should be not a little perplexed. However, “All is well that ends well.”
While halting at Msua, the Baron von Gravenreuth arrived, with 100 soldiers. The Baron is a dashing soldier, fond of the excitement of battle-strife, and in his attacks on the zeribas of the coast Arabs has displayed considerable skill. It was most amusing to hear him remind me how he had once applied to me for advice respecting equipment and conduct in Africa, and that I had paternally advised him to read ‘The Congo and the Founding of its Free State,’ “an advice—I may tell you now—I followed, and I am glad of it.”
1889.
Nov. 28.
Msua.
Soon after appeared two correspondents of American newspapers, one of whom was Mr. Thomas Stevens, and the other Mr. Edmund Vizetelly, representing the ‘New York Herald.’ The last-named gentleman brought us quite a number of well-selected articles for personal comfort and some provisions, by request of Mr. James Gordon Bennett, the proprietor of the Journal in whose service I had undertaken two previous expeditions into Africa, and had accompanied Sir Robert Napier into Abyssinia in 1867 and 1868, and Sir Garnet Wolseley into Ashantee in 1873 and 1874.
Two marches from Msua an expedition from the Imperial British East African Company arrived in our camp, conveying for our use 170 porter-loads of rice, and twenty-five cases of European provisions, clothing and boots, so that each person in the column received twenty-two pounds of rice, besides rations of salt, sugar, jams and biscuits.
The evening of December 3rd, as we were conversing in the moonlight, the sound of a cannon was heard. It was the evening gun at Zanzibar, and the Zanzibaris set up ear-piercing cries of joy at that which announced to them that the long journey across the Continent was drawing near its close, and the Egyptians and their followers echoed the shouts as the conviction dawned on them that within the next twenty-four hours they should see the ocean, on which with all comfort and leisure they would be borne to the land of Egypt and to their future homes.
1889.
Dec. 4.
Bagamoyo.
On arriving at the ferry of the Kingani River, Major Wissman came across to meet us, and for the first time I had the honour of being introduced to a colleague who had first distinguished himself, at the headquarters of the Kasai River, in the service of the International Association, while I was building stations along the main river. On reaching the right bank of the Kingani we found some horses saddled, and turning over the command of the column to Lieut. Stairs, Emin Pasha and myself were conducted by Major Wissman and Lieut. Schmidt to Bagamoyo. Within the coast-town we found the streets decorated handsomely with palm branches, and received the congratulations of Banian and Hindu citizens, and of many a brave German officer who had shared the fatigues and dangers of the arduous campaign, which Wissman was prosecuting with such well deserved success, against the Arab malcontents of German East Africa. Presently rounding a corner of the street we came in view of the battery square in front of Wissman’s headquarters, and on our left, close at hand, was the softly undulating Indian Sea, one great expanse of purified blue. “There, Pasha,” I said. “We are at home!”
HOUSE AND BALCONY FROM WHICH EMIN FELL.
“Yes, thank God,” he replied. At the same time, the battery thundered the salute in his honour, and announced to the war-ships at anchor that Emin, the Governor of Equatoria, had arrived at Bagamoyo.
We dismounted at the door of the mess-house of the German officers, and were conducted upstairs to a long and broad verandah about forty-five by twenty-five feet, which had been converted into a palmy bower, gaily decorated with palm branches and German flags. Several round tables were spread, and on a wide buffet was arranged a sumptuous lunch, of which our appetites enabled us to partake fearlessly; but dubious of the effects of fine champagne after such long absence, I diluted it largely with Sauerbrunn water. The Pasha was never gayer than on this afternoon, when surrounded by his friends and countrymen he replied to their thousand eager questions respecting the life he had endured during his long exile in Africa.
At four o’clock the column filed in, making a brave show. The people were conducted to huts ready constructed near the beach, and as the carriers dropped their loads and the long train of hammocks deposited their grievous burdens of sick men and women, and poor children for the last time on the ground, they, like myself, must have felt profound relief and understood to the full what this arrival by the shore of the sea meant.
At 7.30 P.M. the banquet was to take place. As we mounted the stairs to the broad verandah, the Pasha was met, having just left the lunch table to dress for dinner. We assembled in the palmy bower, thirty-four persons all told—English Vice-Consul, Mr. Churchill, German Consul, and Italian Consul, Captain Brackenbury, of H.M.S. Turquoise, and Commander T. Mackenzie Fraser, of H.M.S. Somali; the Consular Judge, Captains Foss and Hirschberg, of the German warships Sperber and Schwalbe, Officers of the Imperial Commissary’s Staff, Emin Pasha, Captain Casati, Captain Nelson, Lieutenant Stairs, Surgeon Parke, Mr. Jephson, Mr. Bonny, Pères Etienne and Schmidt of the Bagamoyo Mission, Pères Girault and Schinze of the Algerian Mission, Officers of the German East Africa Co., Baron St. Paul Illaire, and others; Mr. W. H. W. Nicoll of the Imperial British East Africa, Captain of the Commissary’s Flotilla, &c. &c. The band of the Schwalbe was in attendance to give éclat to what was a very superb affair for Bagamoyo.
The guests having assembled, Major Wissman led the way to the long banqueting-room, into which the central room of the house had been converted on the occasion. While we were feasting within, the Zanzibaris—tireless creatures—were celebrating the close of a troublous period in the street just below the verandah, with animal energy vented in active dance and hearty chorus. The banquet included the usual number of dishes. I am utterly powerless to describe it. To me it appeared wonderful for Bagamoyo. From extreme sensitive delicacy I omitted to inquire of Wissman where he obtained his chef, and how it all was managed. Without a particle of exaggeration the dinner was a triumph. The wines were choice and well selected and iced, and had it not been for the Sauerbrunn close at hand in unstinted quantity, which rendered them innocuous by liberal dilution, I should soon have been incompetent to speak of their merits. I had almost forgotten the ceremony which follows banquets; but as the time drew near 9 o’clock, and the music was hushed and Major Wissman rose to his feet, a presentiment possessed me, that with benevolent tolerance of any untowardness manifest during our late mission, he aimed at proposing to the company that they should join him in drinking, to the good healths of the guests Emin Pasha, Captain Casati, Mr. Stanley and the officers of the Expedition which had concluded its labours by its arrival in the port of German East Africa that day. As I supposed, so the gallant Major spoke, in well-measured phrases, with genuine kindness and incomparable cordiality; and the company rose to their feet to emphasize the sentiments with hearty hurrahs.
The principles of my reply were first, that I was unaware that Emin Pasha was a German when I offered my services to carry relief to him; that our thoughts were mainly of a brave Governor in difficulties, guarding his province with a tenacity, courage and wisdom, against the assaults of ferocious fanatics who had already eradicated every vestige of civilization from the Soudan. Secondly, that as it had been proved by former expeditions that success was only gained by hearty good will, unwearied effort, and uttermost striving, my companions and myself, like men animated with one mind, had devoted ungrudgingly every fibre, and all our strength, morally and physically, to accomplish the purpose for which we set out. And thirdly, that as the world educated men to become indifferent to its praise or censure, that as neither perfection nor devotion ensured its favour, as misfortune insured its contempt, success its envy or hate, and that as an individual might be won by sacrifice, but that no individual possessed merit or could command fortune enough to win the admiration of all—the safest plan was to seek the approval of one’s conscience; and fourthly, that though we had but proposed, it was God who had disposed events as He saw fit. “Emin is here, Casati is here. I and my friends are all here; wherefore we confess that we have a perfect and wholesome joy in knowing that, for a season at least, the daily march and its fatigues are at an end.”
The Pasha’s speech, delivered with finished elocution,—clear, distinct, and grammatical—and a deep, resonant voice, took the company with an agreeable surprise, and was mainly an outpouring of gratitude to the generous English people who had thought of him, to his German countrymen for their kind reception of him, and to His Imperial Majesty Wilhelm II. for his gracious message of welcome and congratulation.
An effusive gladness pervaded the company. If there were several whose hearts overflowed with undisguised pleasure at the thought that a period of restfulness was to begin with the morning’s sun—others rejoiced from a pure and generous sympathy. But the Pasha was supremely gay and happy. He was seen wandering from one end of the table to the other, now bending over Père Etienne; then exchanging innocent gaiety with Surgeon Parke, and many others; while I was absorbed in listening to Wissman’s oral account of the events of the East Coast War. Presently Sali, my boy-steward, suddenly whispered in my ear that the Pasha had fallen down, which I took to mean “stumbled over a chair,” but perceiving that I did not accept it as a serious incident, he added, “he has fallen over the verandah wall into the street and is dangerously hurt.”
The banquet was forgotten. Sali led me down the stairs to the street, and at a spot removed about twenty feet from the place where he had fallen there were two little pools of blood. The accident seems to have occurred within fifteen minutes after the delivery of his speech, and some minutes must have elapsed before I was informed, for the Pasha had been dragged away, and water had been poured over the head of the unconscious man, and then he had been borne to the German Hospital, and the native dance and song had continued undisturbed.
Hastening after my guide, with my mind oppressed by this sudden transition from gaiety to gloom, from joy to grief, from the upright figure glowing with pleasure, and radiant with joy to the silent form on the verge of the grave, I reached the hospital, and at the door met a German officer who with uplifted hands revealed the impressions gathered from his view of the unfortunate man. Guided upstairs, I was shown to a bed surrounded by an anxious-looking group. On obtaining a view, I saw the Pasha’s form half undressed extended on the bed, wet bandages passed over the right side of the head and right eye. A corner of the wetted lint was lifted up, and I saw that the right eye was closed by a great lump formed by swollen tissues, and discovered that the lint was crimson with blood oozing from the ear. No one seemed to be able to give an exact account of how the accident happened, but the general impression seemed to be that the Pasha, who was half-blind, and had been so for the last two years, had moved somewhat too briskly towards the verandah, or balcony wall of that “palmy bower” wherein we had lunched, to look at the happy natives dancing in the moonlight, and misjudging its height, had leaned over suddenly and too far, and before he had recovered his balance had toppled on to the zinc shed, over the sidewalk and into the street, a fall of about fourteen feet from the edge of the shed. Lieut. Rochus Schmidt had instantly been informed, and hurrying into the street, found the Pasha unconscious, and had attempted to rouse him by pouring cold water over his head, and failing in this had him conveyed to the hospital.
Next morning Surgeon Parke reported to me that the Pasha had remained completely unconscious until near dawn, and that though the accident was undoubtedly a serious one, it need not be considered dangerous, as he had examined him, and could discover no fracture of the skull, the blood from the ear having issued from injured arteries, and that provided no inflammation supervened he might be easily removed within ten days. The Pasha was much bruised on his right side and back, and was in a most painful condition.
Two German surgeons from the war-ships, however, announced that after a careful examination they had come to the conclusion that the Pasha’s condition was most dangerous, that there was an unmistakable fracture near the base of the skull, and that only 20 per cent. of such cases ever recovered.
There was not one European at Bagamoyo but felt extremely grieved at the sad event that had wrecked the general joy. The feeling was much deeper than soldiers will permit themselves to manifest. Outwardly there was no manifestation; inwardly men were shocked that his first day’s greeting among his countrymen and friends should have proved so disastrous to him after fourteen years’ absence from them. What the Emir Karamallah and his fanatics, a hundred barbarous negro tribes, conspirators, and rebel soldiery, and fourteen years of Equatorial heat had failed to effect, an innocent hospitality had nearly succeeded in doing. At the very moment he might well have said, Soul, enjoy thyself! behold, the shadow of the grave is thrust across their vision. This extremely dismal prospect and immediate blighting of joy made men chary of speech, and solemnly wonder at the mishap.
On the 6th of December our people were embarked on board H.M.S. Somali and three of Major Wissmann’s steamers, and at 9 A.M. a fleet, consisting of H.M.S. Turquoise, Capt. Brackenbury, with Lieut. Stairs, Major Wissmann, Messrs. Jephson and Bonny on board, the Sperber, Capt. Foss, with myself, Capt. Nelson, and four Algerian Perês, the Schwalbe, Capt. Hirschberg, H.M.S. Somali, Commander Fraser, and three vessels of Wissmann’s steam flotilla, after lifting anchor, formed line, and proceeded towards the island of Zanzibar. The sea a clear blue, paling into a diluted green over reefs which flanked the course, was lovely, and as the gentle wind met us, we respired deep draughts of air free from taint and miasma. Oh! the deep relief I felt that this was the end of that continual rising in the morning with a hundred moaning and despairing invalids wailing their helplessness and imploring for help, of those daily scenes of disease, suffering, and unmitigable misery, and of the diurnal torture to which the long-enduring caravan had been subjected during what seemed now to have been an age of hideous troubles far beyond the range of anything we had anticipated when we so lightheartedly accepted the mission of relieving the Governor of Equatoria.
1889.
Dec. 6.
Zanzibar.
THE RELIEF EXPEDITION RETURNING TO ZANZIBAR.
Now let me for a moment speak proudly. Knowing what my companions and I know, we have this certain satisfaction, that let envy, malice, and jealousy provoke men to say what they will, the acutest cross-examination of witnesses in a court of justice would elicit nothing more, so far as we are concerned, than a fuller recognition and higher appreciation of the sacrifice and earnestness of the endeavour which we freely and gratuitously gave to assist Emin Pasha and Captain Casati, and their few hundreds of followers. Money time, years, strength, health, life, anything and everything—freely, kindly, and devotedly—without even giving one thought to a reward, which, whatever its character might be, would be utterly inadequate as compensation. To one like me, what are banquets? A crust of bread, a chop, and a cup of tea, is a feast to one who, for the best part of twenty-three years, has had the satisfaction of eating a shilling’s worth of food a day. Receptions! they are the very honours I would wish to fly from, as I profess myself slow of speech, and Nature has not fitted me with a disposition to enjoy them. Medals! I cannot wear them; the pleasure of looking at them is even denied me by my continual absence. What then? Nothing. No honour or reward, however great, can be equal to that subtle satisfaction that a man feels when he can point to his work and say, “See, now, the task I promised you to perform with all loyalty and honesty, with might and main, to the utmost of my ability, and God willing, is to-day finished.” Say, is it well and truly done? And when the employer shall confess that “it is well and done,” can there be any recompense higher than that to one’s inward self?
In the morning I had paid a visit to Emin Pasha. He was in great trouble and pain. “Well, Pasha,” I said. “I hope you don’t mean to admit the possibility that you are to die here, do you?” “Oh! no. I am not so bad as that,” and he shook his head.
“By what I have seen, Pasha, I am entirely of same opinion. A person with a fractured head could not move his head after that manner.[36] Good-bye. Dr. Parke will remain with you until dismissed by you, and I hope to hear good news from him daily.” We shook hands and I withdrew.
It may be curious, but it is true. Emin Pasha, who breathed a cosmopolitan spirit while he was in the Interior, and who professed broad views, became different in a few days. Only one day before we reached Bagamoyo I had said to him, “Within a short time, Pasha, you will be among your countrymen; but while you glow with pride and pleasure at being once more amongst them, do not forget that they were English people who first heard your cries in the days of gloom; that it was English money which enabled these young English gentlemen to rescue you from Khartoum.”
“Never; have no fear of that,” replied the Pasha.
Dr. Parke bore up, I am told, against much unpleasantness. But finally, falling ill himself, to the peril of his life he was conveyed to the French hospital in Zanzibar, where he lay as hopeless a case almost as Emin Pasha immediately after his accident. Happily he recovered from the severe illness that he had incurred while watching at the Pasha’s bedside.
The reports were more and more unsatisfactory from Bagamoyo, and finally I despatched my boy-steward Sali, who returned from his visit to the Pasha protesting that he had been threatened with a short shrift if he ever visited Bagamoyo again; and never message or note did I receive from Emin, the late Governor of Equatoria.
While writing this concluding chapter there appeared the announcement that Emin Pasha had entered the service of the German Government in East Africa. It was the conviction that he would do this that had caused me to remind him on the 4th of December, that it was English money which had enabled our Expedition to proceed to his relief and rescue. That he has ultimately elected to serve Germany in preference to England appears perfectly natural, and yet the mere announcement surprised a great many of his warmest and most disinterested friends, among whom we may number ourselves.
For among the copies of letters relating to Emin Pasha, and the objects of our Expedition supplied to me by the British Foreign Office, was a copy of one purporting to have been written by Emin himself to Sir John Kirk, offering to surrender his province to England before even he had obtained authority from the Khedive to part with it. The appearance of this letter in print vexed him greatly, as it seemed to accuse him of seeking to betray the interests of the Government he was supposed to have served so faithfully. Instead, however, of meeting with an agent of England, empowered to treat with him for the delivery of the province to the British Government, and to appoint him as the Governor of the Province under British auspices, he was informed that the Egyptian Government, acting under the advice of the British representative at Cairo, had only availed themselves of our Expedition to convey to him their wish that he would retire from Equatoria with such troops as were willing to accompany him, failing which he was to be left to stay in the land on his own responsibility. Those who are interested in motives will not find it difficult, therefore, to understand the apparent hesitation and indecision that he seemed to labour under when questioned by me as to his intentions. For nothing could have been more unexpected and unwelcome than the official letters from the Khedive and Nubar Pasha which declared their resolve to abandon the province, except the absolute silence of British officials, or British philanthropists, or commercial companies, respecting the future of the country wherein he had spent so many years of his life in contentment, if not in peace. In lieu of what he had expected, I had only the offer of the King of the Belgians to make to him, to which were attached certain conditions, that appeared to him to render the offer of no value. He could not guarantee a revenue—possibly because he knew better than any one else that there was neither government nor province, and that, therefore, revenue could not be collected. It was then I proposed to him, solely on my own responsibility, that he should take service with the British East African Association, because the copy of his letter to Sir John Kirk informed me that it approached nearer to his own proposition than the other. As I could not guarantee the engagement without authority, and could only promise that I would do my utmost to realise my ideas, I could but extract a declaration of his preference that the second offer was more congenial to him than retreat to Egypt, or service with the Congo State. Yet, as we know, he could definitely accept neither, inasmuch as he did not know whether his rebellious officers would consent to depart from the province, even as far as the Victoria Nyanza. As my mission to Emin was solely to convey ammunition to him, or to assist him in any way desirable and convenient to him, I was as free to carry offers to him from Italy, Germany, Russia, Portugal, or Greece as I was to carry that from Belgium. But as Emin was disinclined to return to Egypt, and declined to accept King Leopold’s generous offer of employment, and dared pledge himself to accept service with the English company until he had ascertained whether any of his people were willing to accompany him, he was compelled to return to his province to consult the inclinations of his officers, in doing which he was deposed from his authority and made a prisoner. When permitted to visit our camp by his rebellious officers, he placed himself under our escort, and accompanied us to the sea, with servants as we compelled to serve him during the journey.
Therefore, having accomplished our mission toward him faithfully, with every consideration and respect while he acted as the Governor of an important province, with every kindness and tender solicitude for himself and family during a journey of 1,400 miles, until he was in the arms of his countrymen, we have some reason for being more than surprised that the accident at the banquet at Bagamoyo should have so suddenly terminated our acquaintance without the smallest acknowledgment. Three several times I am aware I offended Emin. The first time was on April 5th, when, finding him utterly unable to decide, or to suggest anything, or accept suggestion from me, my patience, after fifty-two days’ restraint, gave way. Even now the very thought of it upsets me. If the Pasha had a whipping-boy, I fear the poor fellow would have had a severe time of it. Secondly, my judgment in the affair of Mohammed’s wife was contrary to his wishes, but had he been my brother, or benefactor, I could not have done otherwise than render strict justice. Third was at Mtsora, when Emin came to apologise for certain intemperate words he had used, and when I seized the opportunity of giving him a little lecture upon the mode of conduct becoming a Pasha and a gentleman. “I frankly accept your apology, Pasha,” I said, “but I do hope that from here to the coast you will allow us to remember that you are still the Governor of the Equatorial Province, and not a vain and spoiled child. We can but grieve to see you exhibiting childish pettishness, when we cannot forget that you are he for whom we were all ready to fling away our lives at a moment’s notice. The method of showing resentment for imaginary offences which we see in vogue with you and Casati is new to us. We do not understand why every little misunderstanding should be followed by suspension of intercourse. We have been in the habit of expressing frankly our opinions, but never above a minute nourishing resentment, and brooding over fancied wrongs. If you could bear this in mind you would be convinced that this forced seclusion in your tent cannot appear otherwise than absurd, and infantile to us.”
“Ah, Mr. Stanley, I am sorry I ever came on with you, and, if you will allow me, on reaching Mr. Mackay’s, I will ask you to let me remain with him,” said he.
“But why, Pasha?” I asked. “Tell me why, and what is it you wish. Has any person offended you? I know of everything that transpires in this camp, but I confess that I am ignorant of any offence being done towards you intentionally by any person. Down to the smallest Zanzibari boy I can only see a sincere desire to serve you. Now, Pasha, let me show you in few words for the first time how strange your conduct has appeared to us. When we volunteered to convey relief to you, you were a kind of hero to us; you were Gordon’s last lieutenant, who was in danger of being overcome by the fate which seemed to overtake every person connected with the Soudan, and we resolved to employ every faculty to extricate you from what appeared to be the common doom. We did not ask what country gave you birth, we did not inquire into your antecedents; you were Emin, the heroic Governor of Equatoria to us. Felkin, and Junker, and Allen, of the Anti-Slavery Society, had by their letters and speeches created a keen sympathy in every breast for Emin, the last lieutenant of Gordon. We were told that all you needed was ammunition, and from the day when I left New York to take command of this Expedition, I had only one thought, and that was to reach you before it was too late. I wrote you from Zanzibar that we intended to take the Congo route, and that we should march for Kavalli at the south-west end of the Albert Lake, and I begged you to prepare the natives for our coming, for you had two steamers, and life-boats, besides canoes. Well, we reached Kavalli on the 14th December, 1887. You did not reach Kavalli before March, 1888. That omission on your part cost us the life of a gallant Englishman, and the lives of over a hundred of our brave and faithful followers, and caused a delay of four months. We had to return to Fort Bodo, and bring our boat to search for you. During twenty-six days’ stay with you, we were not certain of any one thing, except that you would wait for the arrival of the Major and rear column. We hastened back to hunt up the rear column to find the Major was dead, and the rear column a wreck. Now all this might have been avoided if you had visited Kavalli, and assisted in your own relief. When we returned to you in January, 1889, you were deposed, a helpless prisoner, and in danger of being taken to Khartoum; and yet, though you had written to me that you and Casati and many Egyptians were resolved to depart if I would give you a little time, after fifty-six days’ patient waiting you were still undecided what to do. My illness gave you an additional twenty-eight days’ delay, and I find you still hankering for something that I cannot guess, and which you will not name. Up to this date we have lost Major Barttelot, and 300 lives; we are here to lose our own lives if they are required. What more can we do for you? Write out in plain words your needs, and you shall then judge for yourself whether our professions are mere empty words.”
From this time to the hour I bade him my farewell at the hospital on the 6th December nothing occurred to mar a pleasant intercourse. There was one difficulty, however, under which I laboured, and that was to write my letters to the Emin Relief Committee, without betraying our surprise at the extraordinary vacillation which marked the Governor’s conduct. It would have been a more agreeable task to have maintained the illusions under which we had set out from England, but it was impossible. What transpired at Kavalli was visible to every officer in the Expedition, and at some indiscreet moment the mask under which friendship may have attempted to disguise the eccentricities of the Pasha would surely have been brushed aside. It was, therefore, necessary that I should state the truth as charitably as possible, so that whatever may have been deduced by critics, the worst charge would have been no more than that his apparent vacillation was due to excess of amiability.
But the Pasha’s conduct at Bagamoyo, from the moment he entered the German Hospital, will not even permit me the privilege of exhibiting him in such an amiable light. The ungrateful treatment which the poor boy Sali received, the making of my letters common property among the German officers, all of which were urging him to have regard for his own good name and fair reputation, the strange ingratitude shown to Dr. Parke, who ought not to have an enemy in the wide world, the sudden and inexplicable cessation of intercourse with any member of our Expedition, render it necessary that we should not close this book without reference to these things.
In Africa Emin Pasha expressed his fears that if he returned to Egypt he would be unemployed. Within half-an-hour of my arrival in Cairo, I took the liberty of urging upon the Khedive that Emin Pasha should be assured, as early as possible, that he would be certain of employment. The Khedive at once consented, and in thirty-six hours Emin replied, “Thanks, my kind master.”
Four weeks later he cabled to the Khedive requiring that a credit for £400 should be given to him at Zanzibar. Col. Euan-Smith, at Zanzibar, was requested by the Government of Egypt to pay that amount to Emin, whereupon he cabled back, “Since you cannot treat me better than that, I send you my resignation.”
As he had offered his services to England, the British East African Company were induced to listen to his overtures, and I was aware while at Cairo that a very liberal engagement was open to his acceptance; but suddenly everybody was shocked to hear that he had accepted service with the Germans in East Africa, and naturally one of his first duties would be to inform his new employers of the high estimate placed on his genius for administration by the directors of the British East Africa Company. I understand that he had agreed to serve Germany one month previous to his offer of service to the British Company. It is clear, therefore, why he was negotiating with the latter.
As has been stated above, his desire to serve the Germans has not been a surprise to me; but this reckless indifference to his own reputation, and his disregard of the finer human feelings certainly are calculated to diminish admiration. While most readers of this book would be indifferent to his employment by his own Emperor, and would consider it perfectly natural and right that he should show preference for his own natal land and countrymen, it will not appear so natural to them that the flag which he had stated at Kavalli he had served for thirty years, should have been so disdainfully cast aside, or that the “kind master,” the Khedive of Egypt, who had given £14,000 towards his rescue, should have been parted with so unceremoniously; or that Sir William Mackinnon and his English friends, who had subscribed £16,000 for sending to him the assistance he had requested, should have been subjected to such a sudden chilling of their kindly sympathies. Nor will it appear quite natural to us that he should so soon forget his “dear people” for whom he pleaded so nobly in May, 1888, and February and March, 1889, as to leave them in Cairo for four months without a word. Dr. Vita Hassan, the apothecary, his most devoted follower, received a letter from him a few days before I left Cairo, which announced to him that he and the others must look out for themselves, that as he had severed his connection with Egypt he could not be troubled any more with them. Poor Shukri Agha, faithful to the last, with tears in his eyes came to me to ask what it all meant? What had he done to be treated with such neglect? With eight years’ arrears of pay due to them, the Pasha’s followers remain wondering why their late chief has so utterly cast them away.
We were the recipients at Zanzibar of so much courtesy and hospitality that pages might be filled with the mere mention of them. To Major Wissmann, I am vastly indebted for large and unstinted hospitality, and I feel honoured with the acquaintance of this noble and brave German centurion. To the gallant Captains Foss and Hirschberg we owe great gratitude for their unremitting kindness. To Consul-General Col. Euan-Smith and his charming wife, to whom I am indebted for courtesies past counting, and a hospitality as ungrudging as it was princely and thoroughly disinterested, besides favours and honours without number, I am too poor in aught to do more than make this simple record of a goodness which cannot be recompensed. And indeed there was not a German, or English, or Italian, or Indian resident at Zanzibar who did not show to myself and companions in some form or another, either by substantial dinners and choice wines their—what was called—appreciation of our services in behalf of Emin Pasha, Captain Casati, and their followers.
The Agent of the East African Company, in company with Lieut. Stairs, having completed their labours, of calculating the sums due to the survivors of the Relief Expedition, and having paid them accordingly, a purse of 10,000 rupees was subscribed thus: 3000 rupees from the Khedive of Egypt; 3000 rupees from the Emin Relief Fund; 3000 rupees from myself personally; 1000 rupees from the Seyyid Khalifa of Zanzibar, which enabled the payees to deliver from 40 to 60 rupees extra to each survivor according to desert. General Lloyd Mathews gave them also a grand banquet, and in the name of the kind-hearted Sultan in various ways showed how merit should be rewarded. An extra sum of 10,000 rupees set apart from the Relief Fund is to be distributed also among the widows and orphans of those who perished in the Yambuya Camp, and with the Advance Column.
Among my visitors at Zanzibar was a Mohammedan East Indian, named Jaffar Tarya, who is a wealthy Bombay merchant, and acts as agent for many Arab and Zanzibari caravan owners in Africa. Among others he acts as agent for Hamed bin Mohammed, alias Tippu-Tib. He informed me that he held the sum of £10,600 in gold, which was paid to him for and in behalf of Tippu-Tib by the Government of the Congo Free State for ivory purchased by Lieut. Becker from Tippu-Tib in its name. Jaffar Tarya had thus unwittingly put the means in my hands to enable me to bring Tippu-Tib some day before the Consular Court at Zanzibar to be judged for alleged offences committed against British subjects—the gentlemen of the Emin Relief Committee—and to refund certain expenses which had been incurred by the declarations he had made before Acting Consul-General Holmwood, that he would assist the Emin Pasha Relief Expedition with carriers. Thus, in consideration of his signed agreement that he would furnish the Expedition with 600 carriers, he had been granted free passage and board for himself and ninety-six of his followers from Zanzibar to Banana Point, River Congo=£1940, and from Banana Point to Stanley Falls=£1940. At Yambuya he had received forty-seven bales of cloth, about fifty cases of gunpowder, as many cases of fixed ammunition, Remington rifles, elephant guns, revolvers, and £128 worth of stores for his sub-chief, Muini Sumai, on the promise that he would supply carriers to escort Major Barttelot until the Major would either meet me or Emin Pasha, which he did not do further than for about ninety miles, and therefore caused us a delay of nearly a year, and a further expense of nearly twelve months’ pay extra to about 250 Zanzibaris. The bill of claims that we could legitimately present amounted in the aggregate to £10,000. Whereupon I pleaded for an injunction that such moneys should not depart from the hands of the British subject Jaffar Tarya until an English court of justice should decide whether the Emin Relief Committee was not entitled in equity to have these expenses and moneys refunded. After hearing the evidence the Consular Judge granted the injunction. There is not a doubt, then, that, if strict justice be dealt to this arch offender, the Emin Relief Committee may find itself in possession of funds sufficient to pay each Zanzibari survivor a bonus of 300 rupees, and each of our officers the sum of £1000 cash, a consummation devoutly to be wished.
1890.
Jan. 16.
Cairo.
After arriving at Cairo on the 16th of January, 1890, and delivering the 260 refugees to the Egyptian authorities, I sought a retired house wherein I might proceed to write this record of three years’ experiences “In Darkest Africa, and the Story of our Quest, Rescue, and Retreat of Emin, the Governor of Equatoria.” I discovered such a house in the Villa Victoria, and on January 25th I seized my pen to do a day’s work. But I knew not how to begin. Like Elihu, my memory was full of matter, and I desired to write that I might be refreshed; but there was no vent. My right hand had forgotten its cunning, and the art of composition was lost by long disuse. Wherefore, putting firm restraint against the crowds of reminiscences that clamoured for issue, I let slip one after another with painful deliberation into the light, and thus, while one day my pen would fairly race over the paper at the rate of nine folios an hour, at other times it could scarcely frame 100 words. But finally, after fifty days’ close labour, in obedience to an irresistible impulse I have succeeded in reaching this page 903 of foolscap manuscript, besides writing 400 letters and about 100 telegrams, and am compelled from over-weariness to beg the reader’s permission to conclude.
Some scenes of the wonderful land of Inner Africa, through which we have travelled together, must for ever cling to our memories. Wherever we go some thought of some one of the many scenes in that great forest will intrude itself into the mind. The eternal woods will stand in their far-away loneliness for ever. As in the past, so they will flourish and fall for countless ages in the future, in dumb and still multitudes, shadowy as ghosts in the twilight, yet silently creeping upward and higher into the air and sunshine. In fancy we shall often hear the thunder crashing and rushing in rolling echoes through the silence and the darkness; we shall see the leaden mists of the morning, and in the sunshine the lustre of bedewed verdure and the sheen of wet foliage, and inhale the fragrance of flowers.
And now and then—oh, the misery of it!—athwart the memory will glide spectres of men cowering in the rainy gloom, shivering with cold, gaunt and sad-eyed through hunger, despairing in the midst of the unknown; we shall hear the moaning of dying men, see the stark forms of the dead, and shrink again with the hopelessness of our state. Then like gleams of fair morning will rise to view the prospects of the grass-land, the vistas of green bossy hills, the swirling swathes of young grass waltzing merrily with the gale, the flowing lines of boscage darkening the hollows, the receding view of uplifting and subsiding land waves rolling to the distance where the mountains loom in faint image through the undefined blue. And often thought will wing itself lighter than a swift, and soar in aërial heights over sere plain, blue water, vivid green land and silver lake, and sail along the lengthy line of colossal mountain shoulders turned towards the Semliki, and around the congregation of white heads seated in glory far above the Afric world, and listen to the dropping waters as they tumble down along the winding grooves of Ruwenzori in sheaves of silver arrows, and speed through the impending rain-clouds, and the floating globes of white mist over unexplored abysses, through the eternal haze of Usongora, and up with a joyous leap into the cool atmosphere over Ankori and Karagwé, and straight away over 300 leagues of pastoral plains, and thin thorn forest, back again to marvel at the delightful azure of the Indian Ocean.
Good-night, Pasha, and you, Captain Casati! You will know better when you have read these pages, what the saving of you cost in human life and suffering. I have nothing to regret. What I have given that I have given freely and with utmost good will; and so say we all.
Good-night, Gentlemen of the Relief Committee! Three years are past since your benevolence commissioned us to relieve the distressed and rescue the weak. 260 all told have been returned to their homes; about 150 more are in safety.
Good night, oh! my Companions! May honours such as you deserve be showered upon you. To the warm hearts of your countrymen I consign you. Should one doubt be thrown upon your manhood, or upon your loyalty or honour, within these pages, the record of your faithfulness during a period which I doubt will ever be excelled for its gloom and hopelessness, will be found to show with what noble fortitude you bore all. Good-night, Stairs, Jephson, Nelson, Parke, and you, Bonny, a long good-night to you all!
You who never turned your backs,
But marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted,
Wrong would triumph.
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to
Fight better,
Sleep to wake.
No, at noonday, in the bustle of
Man’s work-time,
Greet the Unseen with a cheer!
Bid them forward, breast and bark, as
Either should be.
“Strive and thrive!” cry, “speed, fight
On, for ever,
There as here.”
The Thanks be to God for ever and ever. Amen.
