CHAPTER XXVI. WE START HOMEWARD FOR ZANZIBAR.
False reports of strangers at Mazamboni’s—Some of the Pasha’s ivory—Osman Latiff Effendi gives me his opinions on the Wadelai officers—My boy Sali as spy in the camp—Capt. Casati’s views of Emin’s departure from his province—Lieut. Stairs makes the first move homeward—Weights of my officers at various places—Ruwenzori visible—The little girl reared by Casati—I act as mediator between Mohammed Effendi, his wife, and Emin—Bilal and Serour—Attempts to steal rifles from the Zanzibari’s huts—We hear of disorder and distress at Wadelai and Mswa—Two propositions made to Emin Pasha—Signal for general muster under arms sounded—Emin’s Arabs are driven to muster by the Zanzibaris—Address to the Egyptians and Soudanese—Lieut. Stairs brings the Pasha’s servants into the square—Seroor and three others, being the principal conspirators, placed under guard—Muster of Emin Pasha’s followers—Osman Latif Effendi and his mother—Casati and Emin not on speaking terms—Preparing for the march—Fight with clubs between the Nubian, Omar, and the Zanzibaris—My judgments on the combatants—We leave Kavalli for Zanzibar—The number of our column—Halt in Mazamboni’s territory—I am taken ill with inflammation of the stomach—Dr. Parke’s skilful nursing—I plan in my mind the homeward march—Frequent reports to me of plots in the camp—Lieut. Stairs and forty men capture Rehan and twenty-two deserters who left with our rifles—At a holding of the court it is agreed to hang Rehan—Illness of Surgeon Parke and Mr. Jephson—A packet of letters intended for Wadelai falls into my hands, and from which we learn of an important plot concocted by Emin’s officers—Conversation with Emin Pasha about the same—Shukri Agha arrives in our camp with two followers—Lieut. Stairs buries some ammunition—We continue our march and camp at Bunyambiri—Mazamboni’s services and hospitality—Three soldiers appear with letters from Selim Bey—Their contents—Conversation with the soldiers—They take a letter to Selim Bey from Emin—Ali Effendi and his servants accompany the soldiers back to Selim Bey.
1889.
March 27.
Kavalli’s.
March 27th.—I heard to-day that strangers, supposed to be Zanzibaris, had arrived at Mazamboni’s. I accordingly despatched Jephson with forty-three rifles to ascertain the truth of this report, for it may be Jameson, accompanied by Salim bin Mohamed and people.
1889.
March 29.
Kavalli’s.
March 29th.—Mr. Jephson returned from Undussuma, bringing fifty-six native carriers. There were no strangers. It was a false report. Alas! for Jameson. We all wonder what course he adopted upon receiving my letters.
March 31st.—Captain Nelson arrived in camp from Lake shore, bringing 132 loads. These bring up the total of loads carried from the Lake shore to this camp to 1355. I am told there is nothing left except some large ivories, weighing about 150 pounds each, which we cannot carry. The Pasha brought with him sixty-five tusks, forty-five of which I proposed paying to the Manyuema for their services, but they have declined taking it, as they would prefer the monthly pay paid in goods to them on arriving at the C. M. S. Mission at Msalala.
Osman Latif Effendi, the Lieut.-Governor of the Equatorial Province, came to me this afternoon, and gave me his opinions on the Wadelai officers. He says: “Selim Bey may join us. He is not a bad man. He is fond of beer and indolent. If he comes, he will have about 350 soldiers and officers with him, who form his party. Fadl-el-Mulla Bey is chief of the opposite party. Since they received news that Khartoum had fallen they have cast off all allegiance to the Pasha. That was just before Dr. Junker left. Believing that perhaps they would change their minds upon hearing of you, Emin Pasha proceeded to see them with Mr. Jephson, and both were immediately arrested. Fadl-el-Mulla Bey and his clerk are Mahdists. They hoped to get great honour from the Khalifa for delivering the Pasha up to them. They have had an idea of getting you to visit them, and by sweet words and promising everything, to catch you and send you to Khartoum. If Fadl-el-Mulla Bey comes here with his party, all I can say is that you must be very careful. I am tired of the land and wish to go to Cairo. I want nothing to do with them.”
“What do you think of the people here, Osman Latif?”
1889.
March 31.
Kavalli’s.
“Awash Effendi would not dare to be left behind. As the Major of the 2nd Battalion he was said to be very severe. They hate him, and would kill him; almost all the others, if Selim Bey came here, and advised them to stop, would prefer living here to going with the Pasha. I and Awash Effendi will follow you. If we died on the road that is the end of it. We should be sure to die here if we stayed.”
“Why do they dislike the Pasha?”
“I do not know, except that Shaitan (the Devil) instigates them. He has been very just, and good to them all, but the more he allows them to do as they please the further their hearts are from him. They say, ‘Oh, let him go on collecting beetles and birds. We don’t want him.’ The Pasha is very happy when he travels, and is able to collect things, and does not trouble himself about the men.”
“Do you think they would have liked him better if he had hanged a few?”
“Perhaps. God knows.”
“Do you think you would have liked him better if he had been severe to you?”
“No, but I should have been more afraid of him.”
“Ah! Yes, of course.”
“But please don’t tell the Pasha I said anything, otherwise he would not forgive me.”
“Have no fear. If you hear what is going on in the camp let me know.”
“Myself and my son are at your service. We shall hear all that goes on, and will let you know.”
I saw Osman Latif proceed soon after to the Pasha’s quarters, and kiss his hands, and bend reverently before him, and immediately I followed, curious to observe. The Pasha sat gravely on his chair, and delivered his orders to Osman Latif with the air of power, and Osman Latif bowed obsequiously after hearing each order, and an innocent stranger might have imagined that one embodied kingly authority and the other slavish obedience. Soon after I departed absorbed in my own thoughts.
1889.
March 31.
Kavalli’s.
Sali, my boy, is the cleverest spy in the camp. How he obtains his information I do not know. But he appears to know a great deal more than Osman Latif or Awash Effendi, or any of the young Egyptians. He is in the counsels of the captains. He is intimate with Mohammed, the engineer. He is apparently adored by Capt. Ibrahim Effendi Elham, and his father-in-law, Ali Effendi. Of course he has many subordinate informers to assist. The Zanzibaris are inveterate traders: they always possess something to bargain with. During the preliminaries they shuffle the affairs of the camp, and as they are detailed the traders piece this and that together and pass it over when well digested to Sali, after which I receive the benefit of it. Much naturally is pure gossip, but on the whole it amounts to a sum of solid and valuable information.
I discover that there is a plot to break away completely from the Pasha’s authority. The number of those actually faithful to-day in camp is nine. I am told that they know the Pasha is so unsuspecting that they have but to kiss his hand, and plead forgiveness, and he becomes pliant to any schemer.
When a man becomes the jest of such rogues authority is weak indeed.
Dr. Vita Hassan and Mohammed the engineer say that the Pasha pays great respect to Captain Casati’s opinion. I consider it is a very natural thing that he should respect the opinion of the only European who has been with him between Dr. Junker’s departure and our arrival. When Casati is inclined to presume upon kindness, Mr. Jephson reports that the Pasha knows exactly when to assume the governor.
The Pasha appeared this morning at my tent and informed me that Captain Casati was not well pleased with his departure from the Equatorial Province; that he thought it was his duty to stay.
“Where, Pasha?”
“With my people.”
“What people, please?”
“Why, with my soldiers.”
“Well now, really, I was under the impression that you wrote me some time ago, with your own hand, besides endorsing Mr. Jephson’s letter, that you were a prisoner to your own soldiers, that they had deposed you, that they had threatened to take you in irons, strapped on your bedstead, to Khartoum, and I am sure you know as well as I do what that means.”
“That is true. But you must not think that I am about to change my mind. As I said to you, I leave with you on the 10th of April next. That is settled. I wish, however, you would see Casati about this and talk to him.”
“I should be most happy to do so, but my French is wretched, and his is still worse.”
“Oh, if you will send a boy to call me I will come in and be your interpreter.”
What we have gleaned of Casati’s character is generally regarded as a reflection of the Pasha himself. He has not been averse to declaring that he would prefer Africa to Europe. There is some reason in the Pasha seeking an excuse to remain here, but I can find none for Casati, though he has a right to express his preference. But what good purpose can influence either to stay here now I fail to see. When the Pasha possessed force he declined the salary of £1500 a year and £12,000 annual subsidy for the government of his Province: he deferred accepting a somewhat similar post under British auspices until it was too late. The proposal to return home was so displeasing to him that he elected to leave it unanswered until he could learn the wishes of his troops, in the attempt to ascertain which he was deposed, and imprisoned, and is now—let us speak the truth—a fugitive from their power.
But when these two men get together for a social chat, the result is that the Pasha feels depressed, and vexes himself unnecessarily with fears that he may be charged by his rebellious troops with deserting them. Casati feels elated somewhat at having caused these doubts. What Casati’s object is, more than to secure a companion in misery, is to me unknown.
I proceeded to Captain Casati’s quarters, and presently, after an ineffectual effort to be intelligible to him, sent a boy to request the Pasha’s good offices. At once Casati commenced to lecture the Pasha in the name of honour and duty, and to persuade him that he was moralement wrong in abandoning his troops, referring of course to the Pasha’s declared intention of leaving with us on the 10th of April.
“But the Pasha, Captain Casati,” I said, “never had an intention of abandoning his troops, as no person knows better than you. It is these troops who have deposed him, and made him a prisoner from August 18th to February 8th, or thereabouts, nearly six months. They have three times revolted, they have said repeatedly they do not want him, nor will obey him, and they have threatened to kill him. They would probably have sent him to Khartoum before this, had not the mad Danaglas shown what little mercy would have been shown to them.”
“The governor of a fort should never surrender his charge,” replied Casati.
“I quite agree with you in that, if his troops remain faithful to him; but if his troops arrest him, haul down the flag, and open the gates, what can the poor governor do?”
“A captain of a warship should fight his guns to the last.”
“Quite so, but if the crew seize the captain, and put him into the hold in irons, and haul down the flag, what then?”
“No, I do not agree with you,” said the Captain, with emphasis. “The Pasha should remain with his people.”
“But where are his people? The rebels refuse to have anything to do with him except as a prisoner to them. Do you mean to say that the Pasha should return as a prisoner, and be content with that humiliating position?”
“No, certainly not.”
“Perhaps you think that they would relent, and elevate him again to the post of Governor?”
“I cannot say.”
“Do you think they would?”
“It may be.”
“Would you advise the Pasha to trust himself into the power of Fadl-el-Mulla Bey and his officers again?”
“No.”
“Now, here are your servants. Supposing they lay hold of you one night, and were going to kill you, and you were only saved because your cries attracted your deliverers to the scene. Would you trust your life in their hands again?”
“No.”
“Supposing your servants came to you this afternoon and told you they would not obey you in the future, and if you insisted on their obedience would shoot you, would you consider yourself as morally bound to command them?”
“No.”
“Then, my dear Casati, you have answered the Pasha, and what you would not do, the Pasha is not bound to do. Emin Pasha had two duties to perform, one to the Khedive and one to his soldiers. It is because he performed his duty nobly and patiently towards the Khedive that I and my young friends volunteered to help him. The Khedive commands him to abandon the Province, and forwards assistance to him for that purpose. He appeals to his troops and requests them to express their views, whereupon they seize him, menace him with death, and finally imprison him for six months. His answer is given him, which is, ‘For the last time, we have nothing to do with you.’”
Casati was not convinced, and I see that the Pasha is much troubled in mind. They will meet again to-night, and argue the moral aspect of the case again. God knows what their intentions will be to-morrow. Neither of them realise the true state of affairs. I am convinced that their minds are in a bewildered state, as their position would be desperate if we left them to themselves for a few days.
Before retiring for the night the Pasha came to my tent and assured me that he would leave on the 10th of April; that he is certain all the Egyptians in this camp, numbering with their followers about 600, will leave with him. But reports from other quarters prove to me that the Pasha is grossly mistaken. How they will undeceive him I do not know. So far I have not exchanged many words with any of the party, and I have certainly not pretended to have any authority over them. I consider the Pasha as my guest, and the Egyptians as his followers. I supply the whole party with meat and grain, and Surgeon Parke attends to the sick each morning and afternoon.
1889.
April 1.
Kavalli’s.
April 1st.—The first move homeward has been made to-day. Lieut. Stairs has been despatched with his company, sixty-one effective rifles, to form advance camp at Mazamboni’s to store contributions, &c., ready for the huge column that will leave here on the 10th instant.
Accompanying him were Major Awash Effendi, Rushti Effendi, and two or three other Egyptians and their followers, also fifty-seven of Mazamboni’s, twenty-nine of Usiri’s, and thirty of Mpinga’s natives. Besides loads of No. 2 Company, these carriers took eighty-eight loads of ammunition, Remington, Winchester, and gunpowder.
Here is a curious table for medical men:
Weights of Officers at
Banana
Point,
Fort Bodo in
the Forest,
Kavalli’s
Camp,
After
sickness,
1887.
1888.
1889.
1889. [10]
Stanley
168 lbs.
135 lbs.
145 lbs.
132 lbs.
Jephson
168 ”
132 ”
150½ ”
132 ”
Dr. Parke
162 ”
148 ”
170 ”
Major Barttelot
144 ”
—
—
Lt. Stairs
164 ”
143 ”
—
Capt. Nelson
176 ”
140 ”
146 ”
Emin Pasha
—
—
130 ”
April 2nd.—Ruwenzori has been visible the last three days. That snow-covered range has been a most attractive and beautiful sight—pure, dazzling, varying in colours with the hours, with infinite depth of opaline blue all round it, until the sun set and dark night covered the earth. The natives declared it could not be seen because the south hill of the Baregga obstructed the view, but by our levels and triangulations we knew it ought to be seen; and it has been seen. We pointed it out to the natives. They turned and asked, “How did you know it could be seen from here?”
1889.
April 3.
Kavalli’s.
April 3rd.—The Pasha is slowly opening his eyes. He came to me this afternoon and related that he had assembled his household of fifty-one souls—servants, guards, orderlies, who have hitherto been attached to him—and had asked them who were willing to accompany him on the 10th of April. All but four declined. The rest say they will wait for their “brethren.”
One of these four faithfuls is one who bluntly stated that he only followed to seize a little girl whom Captain Casati was detaining by force from him, and that after getting possession of her he would return to Kavalli to await his “brethren.”
Upon asking the Pasha what claims Casati had upon the girl—who is intensely black and about five years old—he said that Casati a few years ago had applied to him for a female cook. She had accompanied him to Unyoro while he had represented him in that country. During her service with Casati the female cook gave birth to this child, who was the offspring of a Soudanese soldier. For three years the child was reared by Casati in his house. She became a pet, and with her artless prattle and childish ways she relieved the solitary man’s tedious life. On his expulsion from Unyoro by Rabba Rega and return to the province, the woman was claimed by her husband, and likewise the child, but at the same time he disclaimed paternity. Casati refused to deliver the child up, and has obstinately refused to do so to this day.
The Pasha thinks it possible that the soldier has some sinister intentions respecting Casati, and deplores Casati’s morbid attachment to his servants, male and female. He is disinclined to exercise his authority on Casati, who has been his guest and true friend for many years, but he regrets that his friend will not be advised by him. This conversation occurred between 5.30 to 6.30 P.M.
One hour later, while taking a short stroll before my tent in the moonlight, I heard a fierce brawling voice uttering in Arabic guttural imprecations. Amid the loud, strenuous, and voluble abuse, I distinguished my name and the Pasha’s frequently, with determined splutterings of “Enough—enough—enough!” I heard other voices coaxingly crying, “For the Prophet’s sake.” “Have a little patience.” “Ease your wrath,” and such like, and presently the Pasha’s voice rang out deep and strong “What is the matter there? Peace, I charge you; peace, then,—Well, go and tell Mr. Stanley; his tent is not far off. Go!”
Presently, one Mohammed Effendi, the engineer, a light skinned and not unprepossessing Egyptian, thus challenged, rushed up to me, followed by a large crowd, and poured—that is the term—a story strongly coloured by jealousy and bitter with angry denunciations. His wife, he said, to whom he had been lawfully married at Khartoum, had been allowed by him, on the death of the Abyssinian mother of Ferida, to become nurse to the child. This was thirty months ago. At first his wife could find time not only to perform duty by the child, but also to him, but during the last six months she had become estranged from him, and abused him violently upon every occasion they met. During the last twenty-four hours he had sent over a score of messages to her, each of which she had rejected with increasing scorn. Was this right? Was there no justice for him?
“Really, my friend Mohammed,” I replied, “I have no authority to settle such delicate questions. Have you been to the Pasha? Have you asked him to try and exercise his authority? Seeing that she is a nurse in his household, he is the person you should apply to; not me.”
“Go to him! Why should I go to him? Nay, then, if you will not do me justice, I will either kill myself, or my wife, or the Pasha. I will do one thing sure.”
He departed, storming loudly, so that the entire camp heard his threats.
I had scarcely ceased wondering what all this meant, when a white-robed figure stole up rapidly towards my tent, evidently a female by her dress.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“The wife of Mohammed Effendi.”
“In the name of God why do you choose to come here?”
“You must listen to my story, having heard that of Mohammed,” she answered.
“Have you the Pasha’s permission to visit me?”
The permission being granted, the woman was shown into my tent by Mr. Jephson and Dr. Parke.
“Well, speak; my ears are opened.”
The fair one crouched down, and made a mass of white in the darkest corner of the tent, lit as it was by a single candle. A subtle fragrance of Shiraz, or Stamboul oil filled the tent, and a perfectly pure and delightful voice uttered such clear-cut Arabic that I imagined I understood every word. A fortnight’s experience with such a voice would make me an Arabic scholar.
The fair one’s story was to the effect that she disliked her husband most heartily—yea, hated him altogether. He was simply a heathen brute. He was too low to be worthy of her regard. He had robbed, torn her clothes, beaten her, had half split her head one time. No; she would never, never—no, never, &c., &c., have anything to do with him in future.
“Have you finished your story?”
“Yes.”
“Serur! Take her back to the Pasha’s house.”
A few seconds elapsed, and the Pasha advanced to the tent and craved an interview. He related that the woman with the husband’s consent had become nurse to his little daughter, for which she received a liberal wage in cloth, which was no sooner paid to her than her husband snatched it away, and shamefully beat her. At her entreaties she obtained the Pasha’s protection even against the husband. He had heard no objections made, and knew nothing of this fury of jealousy until this evening when he heard the wrathy voice of Mohammed denouncing him, and threatening to shoot him. Thereupon he was obliged to ask for my protection, as the fellow might in a fit of madness kill somebody.
“Do you leave this affair in my hands, Pasha?”
“Certainly.”
“Very well. I will ask you to retire to your quarters, guards will be placed at every entrance leading to them, and I will guarantee the safety of all within. I will call Mohammed and hear his story patiently, and will let you know what arrangements have been made before you sleep.”
The Pasha retired and Mohammed was called.
His story was that having given his wife permission to be nurse to little Ferida, he had no intention of depriving the little girl of her services; he simply wished that his wife should visit him occasionally and prove herself amenable to marital duty.
“If you will conform to a few simple conditions, I will do my best to bring your wife to her senses, but it is necessary you should meet me at the Pasha’s house to-morrow morning and apologise to him for your shocking violence to-night. Now, don’t interrupt me,” I said; “you have been urged to this rude behaviour by your friends, Dr. Vita Hassan, Bassili Effendi, and others to make a scene. Go to your house quietly, and beware you utter no more words to-night. To-morrow morning we shall meet again.”
This evening a mail has arrived from Wadelai, and the letters announce the utmost disorder and the most extraordinary confusion at that station.
April 4th.—At 8 A.M. I proceeded to the Pasha’s house and informed him that I desired to call Mohammed to his presence. He consented, and the man made a most submissive apology, though his angry features belied his professions of penitence. He was then told to state to the Pasha before me upon what conditions he was willing to let the woman continue as nurse. He said he wished his wife to attend on Ferida until she was put to sleep, from the first hour of the morning, that was all, to which the Pasha expressed himself agreeable.
“On the following conditions only, Mohammed, do I agree:—
“1st. Your wife shall attend on Ferida during the daytime.
“2nd. Your wife shall return to your house after sunset.
“3rd. Your wife is not to be beaten or bruised.
“4th. Your wife’s personal property shall remain with the Pasha.
“5th. You shall assist, protect, and watch over your wife while on the march, and allow her on reaching camp to serve Ferida.
“6th. You shall not trouble your wife and distract her with your demands during the day—except in case of your illness.
“7th. The Pasha, in consideration of your wife’s service, shall feed and clothe her, and see that she is carried on the march.”
Both the Pasha and Mohammed agreed.
The woman was then called, and the Pasha translated word for word the above conditions. As she heard them she swept the white muslin from her face, and in the absence of any superior attraction she appeared to me to possess considerable beauty, with splendid large black eyes—a distinctively fine Cairene face. The hut was filled with perfume from her spotless white muslin robe. Under this overdress, she wore a scarlet dress. In the wilds of Africa I never met anything approaching her.
After the conditions had been translated, she interjected a vigorous “Never, never, no, never!” coupled with a free abuse of Mohammed, who stood looking ridiculously angry and jealous. He appealed to me to listen to her.
“Take her to you, Mohammed.”
The man gave the order to her to proceed to his house, which order she contemptuously disregarded.
“She must go to your house now,” I said.
Again Mohammed extended his hand towards her, which she angrily pushed aside. “Never, never, no, never!” she cried fiercely, with flashes of anger from her beautiful gazelle eyes.
“Please to command her departure, Pasha.”
The Pasha delivered the order in his usual deep voice. She remained immovable.
“You see she refuses to go,” said the Pasha. “What can be done?”
“My dear Pasha, we were prepared for a scene. This is exactly what we both knew would happen. Despite her obstinacy, she must—she absolutely must depart with her husband, and we must forbear, whatever happens, unless the man strikes her. Please to command once more, Pasha, that she accompany her own proper husband, or she shall be carried bodily to her home.”
The Pasha did so, and after a second’s hesitation, during which it was clear that she was measuring the strength of two wills, she walked out, taking the sweet fragrance and loveliness of her presence with her.
“After her, Mohammed! but if you strike her with even a feather, she shall become as a stranger to you until you reach Cairo. Let her scold on, man, even until she faints with weariness. Does a man like you fear wind? Be considerate with her for three or four days. She will come round, never fear.”
Ten minutes later Mohammed again made his appearance, and anxiously cried out that she was possessed of a devil and unmanageable, tearing her robes, and pulling at her face as though she would destroy its beauty for ever, &c., &c.
“Quite so, quite so, Mohammed; just what we expected she would do. Go tie her up by the wrists, her hands behind her back, Mohammed. Do it with a smile of confidence, and with soothing words, Mohammed. I know no law to prevent you, Mohammed. She is your own lawful wife, Mohammed. But beware of striking her, for if you do it you are a beast!”
The man went, and, in a matter-of-fact way, tied up the shrewish beauty. Then she shrieked and wailed for half an hour, and the neighbours’ wives came in to comfort her, and begged her to be submissive to her lord, and promised her that her husband would become at once tender and kind if she but showed due obedience. “It is the excess of his love for you,” they said, “that makes him so fierce and angry. If you were only wise, he would become the most docile slave.” Wise wives!
But their combined advice, and the cunning suggestions thrown in, had not so much influence in subduing that raging temper, in my opinion, as her bonds, which made the proud woman appear absurdly helpless before the sneering husband.
At 3 P.M. she sent a pitiful message to me that I would cause her release, but she was sternly told that her voice had no power, nor her beauty any charms for me; that she must appeal to her husband. Accordingly she turned to Mohammed, and meekly implored her lord to go and plead for her, that her bonds pained her, and that she would in future obey him devotedly.
Then Mohammed came, with his face radiant with triumphant emotions, and relieved of those jealous wrinkles which had so disfigured it, and interceded for her release. This was granted, with an advice not to let his fondness become folly; to be commanding in tone, and austerely distant for a few days, otherwise she would regain her lost advantages.
She was permitted to resume her duties in the Pasha’s household. At night she meekly returned to her husband’s house of her own accord. Let us hope that peace will spread her wings over the disturbed family for the future. Amen!
April 5th.—This morning Serour, a boy of Monbuttu land, belonging to the Pasha’s household, informed me that only two of the Pasha’s servants intended to follow him out of this camp. He stated that after the Pasha had questioned his servants, the day before yesterday, they had gone apart and consulted among themselves, and that they had finally resolved to let him depart without them—orderlies, guards, clerks, and servants, all except Bilal and he, Serour.
“But are you sure that you will go with him?”
“I don’t know. If all my friends remain behind, what shall I do alone?”
“Well, then, only Bilal is certain of going?”
“Yes.”
1889.
April 5.
Kavalli’s.
At 10.30, after the usual morning muster, Sali reported to me that the Zanzibaris were talking of several attempts having been made, in various parts of the camp, to steal rifles from their huts, but that on each occasion the attempt was thwarted by the prompt wakefulness of the people. I was glad to hear that at last the Zanzibaris had learned the importance of securing their rifles close by them at night. There is a general feeling in the camp that something is about to happen. The whispering circles observed each day, the care they take that no outsiders approach too near them, the discovery that the Pasha’s servants had actually informed the Pasha plainly that they would not accompany him, the huge packets of letters that were despatched by the Egyptians to the ever-dilatory Egyptians at Wadelai, the heavy mails that came from Wadelai in return, the insidious warnings of others not to trust in the Egyptians, coupled with the former theft of a rifle by the returning officers, and these bold attempts to steal a few more rifles, all conspired to prove conclusively that between this date and the 10th of April some daring scheme is about to be tried.
Up to this date I have regarded the Pasha and the people as our guests, to be treated with all politeness and consideration, and myself as host and guide merely, except when any matter was thrust and put into my management. For the Pasha personally all of us entertained great respect and sympathy. Not a day has passed without an exhibition of this feeling from myself and officers, but we have been none the less aware that the Pasha’s method fails utterly to constrain obedience. There has not been a single order of any importance obeyed, nor any request regarded. As often as we have observed this we have chafed and regretted that each time we have been emboldened to speak to him he has believed himself infallible in his judgment, from his thirteen years’ experience of them. But now that the Egyptians had begun, from our quiet inoffensive manner, to conceive that the whites were similar to their Pasha, and proposed to accomplish some project involving our rights and liberties, the time was come to act.
I proceeded to the Pasha’s house.
The Pasha, who was putting the final touches to some birds just stuffed by his secretary, pulled himself up with his usual dignity, and gravely prepared himself to listen.
“Emin Pasha,” I said, “last evening couriers arrived from Wadelai and Mswa. They brought a large packet of letters from Selim Bey, Egyptian clerks, and others, and each letter which you received described disorder and distress. There are now half a dozen factions there, each arrayed against the other. One Coptic clerk wrote you that no one seemed to know what he was about, that the soldiers broke into the Government magazines and took out whatever pleased them, that the officers were unable to restrain them, and that Wadelai was like a settlement consisting wholly of madmen; that Selim Bey had not begun to embark his own family yet, that he had but few followers, and that these were altogether unruly.
“Your people here also received many letters from their brethren, and, as though in accordance with this fact, there was an attempt made last night to appropriate our arms. Three separate times they entered the Zanzibari huts and tried to abstract the rifles; but, acting after my instructions, the Zanzibaris tied their rifles to their waists, and when they were pulled, they were wakened, and the intending thieves decamped. While you have been engaged with your collections and studies, I have been observing.
“They have yet five nights before our departure on the 10th inst. The attempt to rob us of our arms of defence failed last night. They will try again, and perhaps succeed, for I credit them with being clever enough, and it is quite clear that they have a design of some kind. Of course, if they succeed in appropriating even one rifle, the punishment will be summary, for I shall then forget what is due to them as your people and my guests. But this is what I wish to avoid. I should be loth to shed their blood, and create scenes of violence, when a better way of safeguarding our arms and ammunition, and effecting a quiet and peaceable departure from here, can be found.
“I propose to you one of two things. Sound the signal to muster all the Arabs and Soudanese with you, and then find out gently who is willing to leave with you. Those who are not willing, I shall order to leave the camp. If they do not obey, then it will be for me to employ compulsion. But as these people despise our Zanzibaris, they may very probably attempt resistance. Well, in a land where there is no appeal but to our fire-arms, it will certainly end violently, and we shall both regret it afterwards.
“The other proposal is much more effective and more bloodless. Do you order your baggage to be packed up quietly, and at dawn my people shall all be ready to escort you to a camp about three miles from here. From that camp we shall issue a request that those who intend following you shall come in and be welcome, but no other person shall approach without permission on pain of death.”
“Hum! May I inform Casati of this?” demanded the Pasha.
“No, sir. Casati is in no danger; they will not hurt him, because he is not their governor or officer. He is only a traveller. He can come the next day, or whenever he is inclined. If he is detained, I will attack the rebel camp and rescue Casati quickly enough.”
The Pasha, while I spoke, shook his head in that melancholy, resigned manner peculiar to him, which has always seemed to me to betray pitiable irresolution.
“You do not like either plan, Pasha, I see. Will you, then, suggest some plan by which I can avoid coming into conflict with these wretched, misguided people, for as certain as daylight, it is impending? In my camp indiscipline and unruliness shall not prevail.”
The Pasha, after a while, replied, “Your plan is not bad, but there is not sufficient time.”
“Why, Pasha, you have told me you have been packing up for the last fifteen days. Do you mean to say that between now and to-morrow morning you cannot finish packing your baggage? In thirty minutes our Expedition can start. If you cannot be awakened to the danger of bloodshed, and you will not accept my plan, nor suggest anything that will relieve us of the necessity of destroying one another, I must at once take measures for the general safety; and should a drop of blood be spilled, it must be upon your head that the guilt of it will lie. Adieu.”
I rose and sounded the signal for general muster under arms. Myself and officers armed, and the Zanzibaris, Manyuema, Soudanese, and natives, seeing us assume our weapons, knew that the case was urgent, and hastened to the square with wonderful celerity. The natives of Kavalli passed the alarm, and some hundreds came rushing up to take their share in what they believed was a coming struggle.
Within five minutes the companies were under arms, and stood attentive along three sides of the great square. The Pasha, seeing that I was in earnest, came out, and begged me to listen to one word.
“Certainly; what is it?” I asked.
“Only tell me what I have to do now.”
“It is too late, Pasha, to adopt the pacific course I suggested to you. The alarm is general now, and therefore I propose to discover for myself this danger, and face it here. Sound the signal, please, for muster of your Arabs before me.”
“Very good,” replied the Pasha, and gave the order to his trumpeter.
We waited ten minutes in silence. Then, perceiving that not much attention was paid to the signal, I requested Mr. Jephson to take No. 1 company, arm the men with clubs and sticks, and drive every Arab, Egyptian, and Soudanese into the square, without regard to rank, to search every house, and drag out every male found within.
The Zanzibaris were deployed across the camp, and, advancing on the run, began to shower blows upon every laggard and dawdler they came across, until the most sceptical was constrained to admit that, when commanded, the Zanzibaris were fit for something better than working as a hamal for a lazy Egyptian and his slave.
For the first time the Egyptians and Soudanese formed a decent line. Not until they had formed it with military exactitude and precision was a word said to them. It was most amusing to see an ordinary Zanzibari carrier straighten with his staff—which he flourished with a grim face—the line of majors, Vakeels, captains, lieutenants, clerks, and storekeepers.
When the line was satisfactory, I stepped up to them and informed them that I heard they wished to fight, that they were eager to try what kind of men the Zanzibaris were. They had seen how well they could work; it would be a pity if they were not able to see how well they could fight.
The Vakeel—Lieutenant-Governor—replied, “But we don’t wish to fight.”
“Then what is this I hear, that one of you is as good as ten of my men, of rifles being stolen, of plots and counterplots each day that you have been here, of your resolve not to follow the Pasha after making us build your houses and collect food for you, and carrying hundreds of loads the last two months up this mountain from the lake, and last night three of our houses were entered, and you laid your hands upon our arms. Speak, and say what it all means.”
“Ah, Pasha, no one of us wishes to fight, and let the thieves, if found, die.”
“If found! Will any thief confess his theft and deliver himself to be shot. Will you, who are all of one mind, betray one another, and submit yourselves to punishment? Do you intend to follow your Pasha?”
“We all do,” they answered.
“Stay. Those who intend following the Pasha form rank on that other side, like soldiers, each in his place.”
At once there was a general and quick movement in regular order; they then turned about and faced me again.
“So! Is there none desirous of staying in this fair land with Selim Bey, where you will be able to make these natives do your work for you, cook, and feed you?”
“None, not one. La il Allah il Allah!”
“Why, Pasha, you have been misinformed, surely? These people vow they are all faithful. There is not a traitor here.”
“I do not see my servants and orderlies here,” replied the Pasha.
“Ah, Lieutenant Stairs, please take a party and roust every man out. On the least resistance you know what to do.”
“Right, sir.”
Lieutenant Stairs took his company, gave his orders, and in a few minutes the Pasha’s servants were brought into the square; they were deprived of their rifles and accoutrements.
“Now, Pasha, please ask them severally before me what they intend doing.”
Upon the Pasha asking them, they all replied they were willing to follow their master to the end of the world, excepting one, Seroor.
The Pasha, pointing out Seroor, said, “That is the chief conspirator in my household.”
“Oh, it will only take one cartridge to settle his business.”
“But I hope, for God’s sake, that you will try him first, and not take my word for it.”
“Undoubtedly, my dear Pasha. We invariably give such people a fair trial.”
Seroor was placed under guard with three others whom the Pasha pointed out.
“Now, Pasha, this business having been satisfactorily ended, will you be good enough to tell these officers that the tricks of Wadelai must absolutely cease here, and that in future they are under my command. If I discover any treacherous tricks I shall be compelled to exterminate them utterly. No Mahdist, Arabist, or rebel can breathe in my camp. Those who behave themselves and are obedient to orders will suffer no harm from their fellows or from us. My duty is to lead them to Egypt, and until they arrive in Cairo I will not leave them. Whatever I can do to make them comfortable I will do, but for sedition, and theft of arms, there is only death.”
Muster of Emin Pasha’s Followers, April 5th, 1889.
Name.
Loads.
Wives.
Children.
Men.
Women.
Infants.
Total of
People.
Emin Pasha, Governor
51
1
16
15
9
42
Captain Casati, traveller
10
3
8
1
13
Signor Marco, merchant
13
5
4
5
5
3
23
Vita Hassan, apothecary
11
2
7
7
2
19
Osman Effendi Latif, Vakeel
His mother
" Abdul Rahman, his son, 17 years
" Achmed " 10 "
11
2
4
3
5
1
17
" Rejab " 5 "
" Sadi-eddeen " 4 "
Ayoub Effendi (absent), clerk
4
1
1
Achmet Effendi Ibrahim, captain
9
3
3
5
2
14
Abdul Wahid Effendi, captain
8
1
4
3
1
10
Ibrahim Effendi
1
Assinaka, clerk
7
3
7
11
Ali Agha Shamruk, captain
6
1
2
1
5
Rushdi Effendi, clerk
5
2
1
3
4
11
Ibrahim Effendi Telbass, lieutenant
9
2
4
7
Abu Zehr Achmed
5
2
1
4
Ali Effendi, captain
Mohammed, his son, 14 years
Ibrahim " 11 "
20
1
3
9
9
23
Abdul Hamed " 6 "
Mohammed Mutlook, soldier
3
1
2
Awash Effendi, major
17
4
9
1
15
Hamdam, soldier
2
1
2
Mohammed el Arabi, soldier
4
3
4
Sulieman Effendi, 1st lieutenant
12
3
5
5
2
16
Faratch Ago, lieutenant
20
4
5
5
12
27
Mohammed Sulieman, soldier
3
1
2
Bakheet, soldier
2
1
1
3
Azra Effendi, clerk
His mother
8
3
2
2
4
13
Rafael Effendi, clerk
5
2
1
1
5
Wasuf Effendi, clerk
6
2
1
2
2
8
Michael Effendi (deceased)
His children—
Awab boy, 6 years
Bushara " 4 "
Girghis " 2 "
Fullah girl, 7 "
10
8
4
8
20
Mustafia " 10 "
Mushtara " 4 "
Hamma " 2 "
Beheri " 4 "
Abrian Effendi, clerk
9
3
2
7
8
1
22
Awad Effendi, clerk
10
4
5
2
3
15
Abdul Fettah (deceased)
5
1
3
1
6
Mohammed Kher, clerk
5
6
3
2
5
17
Ibrahim Effendi, lieutenant
5
1
1
3
Mohammed Effendi Emin, soldier
8
4
3
8
Hamid Mohammed, soldier
3
1
1
2
5
Yusuf Effendi
Mohammed, his son, 12 years
12
4
4
10
12
32
Kahlil " 11 "
Ibrahim, his brother
Rajah Effendi, Pasha’s secretary
7
2
2
2
3
10
Arif Effendi, Pasha’s clerk
5
2
2
3
8
Mabu, soldier
2
1
1
3
Merjan, soldier
1
1
Children of Mohammed Osman—
Ismail, son, 12 years
Bukra, girl, 13 "
4
3
3
2
2
10
Fatima " 10 "
Kur, sergeant
2
2
2
5
Feruzi, trumpeter
2
1
2
Seeroor Adam, soldier
5
3
2
3
3
12
Ahmed Effendi Reif, storekeeper
3
1
1
3
Ahmed Effendi Ibrahim, clerk
4
1
1
1
4
Abu Scherag, soldier
4
1
1
3
Basili Effendi
Toma Effendi three Coptic
brothers, clerks
Daoud Effendi
and two sisters, captains
11
7
10
22
Awari, soldier
3
2
2
5
Farag Hashin, soldier
3
1
1
3
Fathel Mullah, soldier
2
1
2
Ibrahim, soldier
3
1
Shukri Aga (absent), captain
His children—
Achmed, his son, 13 years
15
6
4
4
7
3
24
Juma " 12 "
Adam " 14 "
Matyera, interpreter
3
4
1
1
7
397
82
69
126
182
36
551
The Pasha translated, and the Arabs bowed their assent, and through the Vakeel and two captains, vowed that they would obey their father religiously.
“Good,” I replied; “and now that I assume command, I want to have a list of your names and exact number of your families, and carriers will be allotted to you according to your number, and on the fifth day we leave.”
Poor Pasha! It was as clear as the noonday sun why 10,000 followers had dwindled in number to Bilal, the solitary one! After a patient and scrupulous analysis of the why and wherefore of these events, the result is manifest, and we see the utter unfitness of the scientific student and the man of unsuspecting heart to oppose these fawning, crafty rogues, who have made fraud and perfidy their profession. At the same time, it is not so clear that, had he penetrated their dissimulating wiles, and grappled with these evil men boldly, and crushed the heads of these veterans in falsehood and craft, that his position would have been safer than it was. Each man, however, follows his own nature, and must abide the consequences of his judgment and acts. But all must admit, that what is so far written does infinite credit to his heart.
April 6th.—Sixty-five natives have arrived here, sent by the chief Mazamboni as carriers, to be ready for the 10th instant.
Osman Latif Effendi, the Lieutenant-Governor of the Province, was once much addicted to inebriety, but of late years he has become a rigid abstainer, and such an absorbed reader of the Koran that not long ago his clothes were aflame before he was aware of it.
1889.
April 6.
Kavalli’s.
During the sudden muster of the day before yesterday, and the fierce declaration of my intentions, he became energetic himself, and I found that energy, as well as disease, becomes contagious. He had prepared for an immediate start after us. His mother, an old lady, seventy-five years old, with a million of wrinkles in her ghastly white face, was not very fortunate in her introduction to me, for, while almost at white heat, she threw herself before me in the middle of the square, jabbering in Arabic to me, upon which, with an impatient wave of the hand, I cried, “Get out of this; this is not the place for old women.” She lifted her hands and eyes up skyward, gave a little shriek, and cried, “O Allah!” in such tragic tones that almost destroyed my character. Every one in the square witnessed the limp and shrunk figure, and laughed loudly at the poor old thing as she beat a hasty retreat.
While arranging his eleven loads, consisting of baskets of provisions, carpets, and cooking pots and family bedding, Osman Latif Effendi held the Koran between thumb and finger, and alternately appealed to the Arabic lines, and to the Arab lares and penates in the baskets.
Among the people yesterday I found forty-nine young fellows without arms. As they drew up in line they preferred a request to be armed with rifles. Not knowing their character, I sent to the Pasha to be good enough to give me a list of the most deserving, that they might assist in the defence of the column while on the march, but he begged to be excused, as he did not feel well enough. Poor Casati is not on speaking terms with the Pasha, because of his judgment against him in the matter of the little black girl of the other day, and I suppose the Pasha will not be on speaking terms with me, because of the shock of yesterday.
The march will do them all good. When the Pasha is in presence of Ruwenzori—the Mountains of the Moon—he will recover tone.
April 7th.—The Egyptians are now earnestly preparing for the march. I have ordered every family to have a reserve of at least six days’ provisions on hand at all times, irrespective of the plenty that may be in the vicinity. The Zanzibaris have become at last impressed with the necessity of this, though it required eighteen months most woeful experience and constant instruction to teach them this secret of African travel.
April 8th.—Mazamboni’s natives, who have been gathering here ready for our departure, danced nearly the whole day. The women of the Bavira turned out en masse to exhibit a farewell performance. My vanity induces me to publish the fact that the songs were merely extemporaneous effusions in our honour for having as they say “fixed the country in order.”
This afternoon Omar, sergeant of our Soudanese, created a scene because of some supposed insult to his wife by the Zanzibaris. As the affair waxed serious, the intending combatants were brought to the square and requested, if they would not disperse, to fight the matter out before me as umpire. Now Omar is a splendid specimen of manhood, an excellent soldier and officer, but both he and the cantankerous Zanzibaris were elated above reason by native beer. Omar and his Zanzibari antagonists loudly clamoured for a fight. “With fists or clubs?” “Clubs for men,” shouted the Zanzibaris—a very unfortunate choice for them, as it turned out.
Omar stood like a colossus, with his coat sleeve rolled up. A Zanzibari sprang to the front calling out, “I am Asmani, of Muscati; behold how I will lay low this Nubian!” They made two passes, and Asmani was struck to the ground senseless. He was taken up and placed in charge of Dr. Parke.
1889.
April 8.
Kavalli’s.
“Next of ye who feel aggrieved by Omar.” Hajji, a tall Zanzibari, responded, flourished his club, struck deftly one side, but the blow was cleverly caught by Omar, and before he could recover his guard Hajji had measured his length on the greensward. The applause was terrific. There were some 900 people present. Hajji was dragged away like the gored horse in the Plaza de Toros, and sent to the Doctor to be cured of his skull-crack.
“Next;” and at the call bounded a sturdy, active little fellow named Ulaiya—or England. “Ho, my lads, I am England—this Turki soldier shall die!” In his brave confidence he flung his turban away, and exposed his bare head. One, two, three! and, alas, for Ulaiya, the baton of Omar came down on his unprotected cranium with a blow which would have killed a white man, but only caused him to collapse and become too confused for further effort. The sight of the blood streaming down his face infuriated his comrades, and a general rush was made upon Omar, who, before he was rescued, received an extremely sore back from the multitude of blows showered on him, so that victor and vanquished had received adequate punishment, and declared themselves perfectly satisfied that each of their honours had been gratified by the display. After their wounds, they were, however, taken to the guardhouse.
1889.
April 9.
Kavalli’s.
April 9th.—This morning the combatants of yesterday were brought before me at muster. Sergeant Omar was informed that, whereas he, being an officer, had allowed himself to indulge in drink, his sentence was that he should carry a box of ammunition while on the march until the Zanzibaris’ heads were healed, and during their retirement from the active list, he, being in the meanwhile, disrated. Three other Soudanese were sentenced to do porter’s duty for a similar period for having drawn steel weapons during the fight with intent to do deadly injury, and one Soudanese received a dozen for putting a cartridge with intent to shoot. Serur, the Monbuttu, servant of the Pasha, with his master’s permission, received two dozen for employing a shovel to strike the combatants, having been inspired by malice for the events of the 5th instant.
Notice was also given that the march towards Zanzibar would commence next morning, which announcement was received with “frantic applause.”
Mpinga, Msiri, Mwité, Malai, Wabiassi, Mazamboni, and Balegga have furnished 350 carriers. They are assembled this evening, dancing, singing, and feasting.
Shukri Agha, Commandant of Mswa, has not arrived yet, though he has sent his children and women.
April 10th.—March from Kavalli’s to Mpinga’s, four hours.
At 7.30 A.M. the column streamed out of camp led by No. 1 company, then followed the Pasha and his people, with their allotted number of carriers.
Roughly the number was as follows—
| Expedition | 230 |
| Manyuema | 130 |
| Plateau natives | 350 |
| Kavallis | 200 |
| Pasha and people | 600 |
| Total | 1,510 |
There was no disorder or disturbance. The column kept as close order as though it was composed of veterans. The ridges and swells of land were lined with women and children, who sang their farewells to us. Every one was animated and happy.
Captain Nelson, in charge of the rear guard, set fire to the straw town which had seen so many anxious weeks of our life. The fire was splendid; the fearful flames seemed to lick the very sky from where we stood, and the great cloud of black smoke announced to the country round about, even as far as Pisgah, that the Expedition was homeward bound.
April 11th.—Halt.
April 12th.—March to Mazamboni’s, four and a half hours.
1889.
April 12.
Mazamboni’s.
Continued our journey to the territory of our good friend Mazamboni, but the compact order was much broken. The Pasha’s people straggled over many miles of the road. This will have to be corrected to avoid wholesale casualities. There is no fear in this country, for this is our own, and the natives are in a fair way of becoming civilized.
Lieutenant Stairs was discovered, having made ample provision for the wants of the column, and had nothing but grateful news to deliver to us.
April 13th.—Halt. I write this in bed, am in great pain; Dr. Parke informs me I suffer from sub-acute gastritis, which I judge to be something of an inflammation of the stomach; am under the influence of morphia. Last night about 2 A.M. the first symptoms attacked me. A halt has been ordered, which I fear will be a long one. This compulsory pause will be a forced extension of time to those misguided people of the Equatorial Province who may hear of our departure from Kavalli, and who may take this halt as a further grace offered to them.
1889.
April 13.
Mazamboni’s.
Now followed, one day after another, days of excessive pain and almost utter weariness of life. The body pined for want of the nourishment that the excoriated stomach invariably rejected. Nothing but milk and water could be taken, and the agony caused by the digestion had to be eased by hypodermic injections of morphia. For the first few days the devoted surgeon enabled me to hope that, through his skilful nursing, I might soon recover, and my mind became active in planning the homeward march, and conceiving every unhappy circumstance attending it, and the necessary measures that should be taken. I supposed Kabba Rega was aware of the retreat of the Pasha and his people, and would do his utmost to oppose our progress, conceded to him in imagination hundreds of rifles, and thousands of spearmen with his allies, who use the long bows of the Wahuma, and fancied that after him we should meet the brave and warlike Wasongora, of whom I had heard in 1875, and then the Wanyankori, with their king named the “Lion,” persecuting the column night and day, and victim after victim dropping from among our living ranks; and then the passage of the Alexandra Nile amid a rain of arrows, to encounter the no less hostile people of Karagwé, assisted by the Waganda, and the column daily decreasing in strength and numbers, until some day, a few, after infinite struggles, would reach Msalala, and tell Mackay, the missionary, the horrible scenes of disaster that had dogged us and finally destroyed us; and lying helpless on my bed, with the murmur of the great camp round about me, all these difficulties, arrayed by the vividness of my imagination, had to be struggled against in some way, and forthwith I lost myself in imaginary scenes of endless fights and strategies along the base of the snowy range, seizing every point of vantage, rushing into a palisaded village, and answering every shot with two of most deadly aim; climbing a hill slope and repelling the enemy with such spleen that they would be glad to cease the persecution. Or at crossing of broad rivers, after a troublous search for the means, the ambuscades protecting the ferry, or forming zeribas with frantic energy, every man and woman assisting, the sharpshooters’ rifles keeping up the incessant and venomous fire; Stairs, Nelson, Jephson, Parke halloing their men with cheering voice, and every one aflame with desire to defend the people entrusted to our charge. Or scenes of combat in the underwood of the tropic forest, utterly heedless of the divine beauty of tropic flowering, cool shades and merry streamlets, and absorbed only in the sanguinary necessities of the moment. I sometimes worked myself into such a pitch of exaltation that a fever came and clouded all, and caused me to babble confusedly, and the Doctor, gently shaking his head, would have to administer an opiate.
Nor were these the only bugbears raised in my dazed mind. Morning after morning came the reports as usual of plots, and seditious circles of men drawing new nets of craft to gain something I knew not what, and pleasing their cruel hearts with foretelling the most ominous events. Many a rumour seemed to be afloat that the rebels were advancing with a soldiery bent on destruction, and the number of those deserting the camp by night grew greater and greater, until I had counted eighty. And then it was told me that someone was most active in disseminating falsehoods and inventions of terrible scenes of starvation wherein nothing but grass would be eaten, and that there was a grand effort to be made, because the effect of these tales was so widespread that something like a panic had seized the people.
The Pasha discovered one of his men as being most industrious at this evil work, and had had him tried and convicted, and sent for a detail of men to shoot him as an example. “No detail of Zanzibaris can be sent,” I managed to whisper to Stairs. “Let the Pasha shoot his guilty man with his own people. If he needs a guard for protection, let him have the men, but we came to save life, not to destroy it.” And as his own people could not be trusted to execute such an order, the man’s life was spared.
Then it was told me that one of the Lieutenant-Governor’s men had shot a friendly native through the head, because the poor fellow had not been quick enough in collecting fuel to please the hard-hearted slave. “Put him in chains,” I said, “but do not kill him. Feed him and fatten him ready for the march. He will do to carry a reserve of ammunition.”
“In a few days there will be few officers left,” said Nelson. “They are all going fast, and our labour has been in vain.” “Let them go,” I replied. “If they do not wish to follow their Pasha, let them alone.”
Then came a report that Rehan had taken with him twenty-two people, with several rifles belonging to us.
“Ah well, Stairs, my dear fellow, pick out forty good men, march to the Nyanza. You will find the rendezvous of these fellows at the Lake Shore camp. Be very wary, and let your capture of them be sudden and thorough, and bring them back. By taking our rifles they have made themselves liable.”
1889.
April 17.
Mazamboni’s.
On the fourth day later Lieutenant Stairs returned, having made an excellent haul of carefully guarded prisoners, among whom was Rehan, the ringleader.
A court of officers was convened, the witnesses were summoned, and from their evidence it was ascertained that his flight was to precede by two days a general exodus of the Soudanese men, women, and children; that it was a part of a deliberate plan to arm themselves at our expense, so that, on the arrival of Selim Bey, who was daily expected, we should be unable to make any prolonged defence. It was proved that he had commenced his seditious practices soon after it was known that I was seriously ill; that he had begun his intrigues by publishing the most audacious statements respecting our cruelties when on the march; how every officer and Soudanese would be laden with crushing loads on their heads, that food would be denied them, and they would be told to feed on grass. The final fall of the Equatorial Government resulted from the scandalous falsehoods of an Egyptian clerk and lieutenant. Officers and soldiers of the Pasha were summoned to bear witness to what they had heard emanating from this man, and a mass of evidence, complete and conclusive, was furnished to prove that Rehan had been guilty of most atrocious practices, subversive of all discipline, and endangering the safety of the Expedition and its charge. It was also proved that Rehan had appropriated several rifles from the Expedition, with the intention of joining Selim Bey, and finally employing our weapons and ammunition against people who had done naught but good and kindness to him and his friends. Thirdly, he was convicted of absconding with several women belonging to the harems of the Egyptian officers. Fourthly, of desertion; and fifthly, of having shot some friendly natives between our camp and the Nyanza, after his flight from camp. The Court resolved that on each specification the man Rehan deserved death.
To my suggestion, that possibly a milder sentence, such as chaining him, or putting him in a forked pole, with a box of ammunition on his head, would be preferable, the Court was immovable; and, reviewing the case carefully, I concurred in the sentence, and ordered that all should assemble to hear the charges, the finding, and the sentence.
I was borne out of my bed into the presence of the people, and though to all present I seemed to be fast drifting into that dark and unknown world whence none return who enter, I found strength to address the doomed man.
“Rehan, we are both before God; but it is written in the book of Fate that you shall precede me to the grave. You are a wicked man, unfit to breathe the air among men. I found you the slave of Awash Effendi, and I made you a freeman, and the equal of any soldier here. I remember when, in the forest, our friends were dying daily from weakness and hunger, I asked you to assist in carrying the ammunition for your Pasha; you freely consented to do so for wages. When the men recovered their strength you were relieved of your load. When you were ill, I looked after you, and supplied you with that which made you well. You knew that all our sufferings were undergone while carrying ammunition for you and your friends. When the work was done, your heart became black, and you have daily sought to do us harm. You have wished to rob us of the means of returning home; you have tried your best, in the malice of your heart, to wrong us; you have vilified us; you have entered the houses of the Egyptians and stolen their women, and you have murdered our native friends who have given us food gratuitously for the last three months; for all of which you deserve death by suspension from that tree. A number of men, who were your friends at one time, have tried your case patiently and fairly, and they answer me with one voice that you shall die.
“Now, I will give you one more chance for life. Look around on these men with whom you have eaten and drunk. If there is any one of them who will plead for you, your life is yours.
“What say you, Soudanese and Zanzibaris? Shall this man have life or death?”
“Death!” came from every voice unanimously.
“Then Yallah rabuna! Depart to God!”
The Soudanese with whom he had gossipped and fraternally lived in the forest briskly stepped forward and seized him, and the Zanzibaris flung the fatal noose around his neck. A man climbed the tree, and tossed the rope to a hundred pair of willing hands, and at the signal marched away, and Rehan was a silent figure hanging between earth and heaven.
“Pass the word, Mr. Stairs, throughout the camp among the Pasha’s people, and bid them come and look at the dead Rehan, that they may think of this serious scene, and please God mend their ways.”
I had a relapse that night, and for days afterwards it appeared to me that little hope was left for me. Then my good doctor was stricken sorely with a pernicious type of fever which has so often proved fatal on the African seaboard of the Atlantic. For many a day he was also an object of anxiety, and the Pasha being a medical practitioner in past times most kindly bestirred himself to assist his friend. Then Mr. Mounteney Jephson fell so seriously ill that one night his life was despaired of. He was said to be in a state of collapse, and our priceless doctor rose from his sick bed and hastened with his men supporting him to the side of his sick comrade, and applied restoratives, and relieved our intense anxieties, and before retiring, he called upon me to relieve my spasms. Thus passed these dreadful days.
On the 29th of April I was able to sit up in bed, and from this date to the 7th of May there was a steady but sure improvement, though the tongue which indicated the inflammation of the mucous membrane of the stomach appeared to be obstinately unpromising.
1889.
May 3.
Mazamboni’s.
May 3rd.—Two packets of letters were brought to me by natives in the neighbourhood of the Lake shore, and as they were in Arabic I sent them to the Pasha. Presently the Pasha appeared and demanded an interview. When he was seated he informed me that there had been a mistake, for one of the packets was a mail for Wadelai despatched some days ago from our camp, while the other packet was the mail from Wadelai.
As I was not aware of any mail having been sent away since we had arrived at Mazamboni’s, such a packet must have been sent secretly, and most probably with sinister intentions to us. “Therefore, Pasha, as we are evidently in a state of war with your evil-minded people, I beg you will be good enough to open the packet and read a few of those letters to me, for you know everything is fair in war.”
The first letter was from Shukri Agha, and was a kindly letter to his friend Selim Bey. There was not a syllable in it that was otherwise than sterling honesty, and honest hopes of an early meeting.
The second was from Ibrahim Effendi Elham, a captain who was in the camp. It said, “I hope you will send us fifty soldiers as soon as you receive this letter. We have started, and are now waiting for a few days here. I pray you, in the name of God, not to delay sending these men, because if we have them to help us, we can delay the march of the Expedition in many ways, but if you came yourself with 200 soldiers we could obtain all you and I wish. Our friends are anxiously expecting news from you every day. The necessity is urgent.”
“That is a discovery, Pasha! Now are you satisfied that these people are incorrigible traitors?”
“Well, I should not have expected this of Ibrahim Effendi Elham. I have been constantly kind to him. As for Selim Bey, I cannot see what he can want.”
“It is this, Pasha. In reality few of these men wish to go to Egypt. Even Selim Bey, despite all his promises, never intended to proceed to Egypt. They were willing to accompany you until they reached some promising land, where there was abundance of food and cattle, and removed from all fear of the Mahdists; they then would tell you that they were tired of the march, that they would die if they proceeded any farther, and you, after conferring with me, would grant them ammunition, and promise to send some more to them by-and-by. But this ammunition would not be sufficient in their eyes, however liberal you were. Their rifles would be too few, nothing would satisfy them but all the rifles and ammunition and everything we possessed. Wait a moment, Pasha, and I will reveal the whole plot to you.
“After Mr. Jephson received my order last January, of course the news soon spread as far north as your farthest station that I had arrived with all my people and stores. They knew, though they affected to disbelieve it, that the Khedive had sent ammunition to you. But they were clever enough to perceive that they could get nothing from me without an order from you. But as Jephson had fled and conveyed the news of your deposition and imprisonment to me, even an order would scarcely suffice. They therefore, knowing your forgiving disposition, come to you, a deputation of them, to profess regret and penitence; they kiss your hand and promise greatly, which you accept, and as a sign of amity and forgiveness of the past accompany them, and introduce them to me. You ask for a reasonable time for them, and it is granted. But so strong was the temptation, they could not resist stealing a rifle. If they intend to go with us, what do they wish to do with this rifle while steaming on the Lake? Is it not a useless incumbrance to them? I suppose that the varying strength and influence of the factions have delayed them longer than they thought, and we have been saved from proceeding to extremes by their dissensions.
“Since I have heard Mr. Jephson’s story, and your own account which differs but little from his, and the different versions of Awash Effendi, Osman Latif Effendi, and the Zanzibaris, I have long ago made up my mind what to do. These people are not those to whom you may preach and reason with effect, their heads are too dense, and their hearts are too hardened with lying. They can understand only what they feel, and to make such as these feel they must receive hard knocks. When I had thoroughly sounded the depths of their natures my mind began to discover by what method I could master these men. There were half a dozen methods apparently feasible, but at the end of each there was an obstacle in my way.
“You could not guess what that obstacle was, Pasha?”
“No, I cannot.”
“This obstacle that presented itself constantly, at the end of every well-digested method, was yourself.”
“I! How was that?”
“On the 5th of April you ceased to be so, but until then, I could not carry any scheme into execution without reference to you. You were in our eyes the Pasha still. You were the Governor and Commander of these people. I could not propose to you to fight them. You believed in them constantly. Each day you said, ‘They will come, but it never came across your mind to ask yourself, ‘What will they do after they do come, if they find they outnumber us three to one?’ Had they come before the 5th of April, my plan was to separate from you and leave you with them, and form camp, with every detail of defence considered, seven or eight miles from you. All communications were to be by letter, and guides were to be furnished after we had gone in the advance a day’s march, to show you the road to our last camp. No force of any magnitude would be permitted to approach my camp without a fight.
“But after the 5th of April this method was altered. I should have been wrong were I to separate from you, because I had a proof sufficient for myself and officers that you had no people, neither soldiers nor servants; that you were alone. I proposed then as I propose now; should Selim Bey reach us, not to allow Selim Bey, or one single soldier of his force, to approach my camp with arms. Long before they approach us we shall be in position along the track, and if they do not ground arms at command—why, then the consequences will be on their heads. Thus you see that since the 5th of April I have been rather wishing that they would come. I should like nothing better than to bring this unruly mob to the same state of order and discipline they were in before they became infatuated with Arabi, Mahdism, and chronic rebellion. But if they come here they must first be disarmed; their rifles will be packed up into loads, and carried by us. Their camp shall be at least 500 yards from us. Each march that removes them further from Wadelai will assist us in bringing them into a proper frame of mind, and by-and-by their arms will be restored to them, and they will be useful to themselves as well as to us.”
The day following our arrival at Mazamboni’s, Shukri Agha, Commandant of Mswa, had at length appeared. He had started from his station with twenty soldiers. Arriving at Kavalli on the plateau, he had but ten left; on reaching our camp he had but two, his trumpeter and flag-bearer. All the rest had deserted their captain. It is needless to comment on it.
It is now the 7th of May. I hear this evening that there is quite a force at Lake Shore Camp. Preparations for departure have been made during the last four days. We will start to-morrow. We have been in this country since the 18th of January—110 days. If this force proposes to follow us, they can easily overtake such a column as ours, and if they impress me that they are really desirous of accompanying us, we will not be adverse to granting them some more time.
On the 7th of May I requested Lieutenant Stairs to bury twenty-five cases of ammunition in the ground-floor of his house, in order that if the rebel officers appeared and expressed earnest penitence, and begged to be permitted to stay at Mazamboni’s, they might have means of defence. Mr. Stairs performed this duty thoroughly and secretly.
1889.
May 8.
Bunyambiri.
RESCUED EGYPTIANS AND THEIR FAMILIES.
May 8th.—As I was too weak to walk more than fifty yards, I was placed in a hammock, and was borne to the front to guide the column. We advanced westward a few miles; then, abandoning our old route to the forest, turned southwards by a well-trodden track, and travelled along the base of the western slope of the group of hills known as Undussuma. We were presently amongst the luxuriant fields, plantain and banana plantations of the village of Bundegunda. The Indian corn and beans were very flourishing, and these extended far into the fields and hollows of the hills, a perfect marvel of exuberant plenty. It made a great and favourable impression upon the Egyptians and their followers, and we even wondered at the prodigious fertility of the soil and the happy condition of the district. One reason for all this extraordinary abundance was the protection and shelter from the cold winds blowing from the Lake.
An hour’s march beyond the limits of the cultivation of Bundegunda, through other fields of equal fertility and productiveness, we formed camp, or rather located ourselves, in the village of Bunyambiri, which Mazamboni had caused to be abandoned for our necessities.
As Mazamboni escorted us with 300 of his own men, and was with us in person, free permission was given to each member of the column to range at will among the plantations and fields. The people thus literally feasted on the ripe fruit of the banana, and the new beans, yams, sweet potatoes, colocassia, &c. In return for his services and hospitality, Mazamboni received forty head of cattle and sixteen tusks of ivory, averaging 52 lbs. each. To my shame, however, the chief complained that his people were being detained as slaves, and Lieutenant Stairs and his brother officers had to escort him round the villages, to discover and restore them to him. This was so very Egyptian, however, to consider every service performed as their due, for some virtues and graces which, though possibly innate in them, remained hidden so long.
In the afternoon three soldiers, accompanied by Ayoub Effendi, an Egyptian clerk, made their appearance with letters from Selim Bey. They bring an extraordinary budget of news, which will bear being related, as it is only one more final proof of how utterly lost to all sense and reason were the officers and soldiers of the Equatorial Province, and how utterly incapable they were to appreciate the nature of their late Pasha and Governor.
They say that Fadl el Mulla Bey and his party appeared for a time to be consenting to all orders received from Emin Pasha and myself through Selim Bey Mator, and apparently busied themselves with the preparations for departure. Selim Bey had transported all the garrison of Dufflé to Wadelai by the steamers Khedive and Nyanza, in doing which he had broken his promise to us, and disregarded the orders to which, when delivered to him, he swore obedience to the letter. It will be remembered that he had been instructed to begin the transport of the people from Wadelai to our Lake Shore camp, that we might assist the people with the luggage to the plateau, while the transport on the Lake by steamers would continue, and at the same time the garrisons of the northernmost stations could march with their families and concentrate at Wadelai. Thus we had idly waited from the 25th February until the 8th May in the neighbourhood of the Lake, a period of ninety-two days, for the appearance of some of them, as a proof that they were really in earnest in their wish to depart with us.
While Selim Bey was thus carrying the troops and their families from the lower stations to Wadelai, he was unwittingly strengthening the force of the opposite faction, that of Fadl el Mulla Bey, and they had no sooner joined their numbers to him than he resolved to throw off the mask. In the dead of night he marched his troops to the magazines, and, possessing himself of all the ammunition stored there, left Wadelai and proceeded north-west to the country of the Makkaraka. When Selim Bey woke next morning, he found his following to consist of 200 officers, soldiers, and clerks, the magazines empty, and no ammunition remaining but the forty rounds per head which had been distributed to his soldiers a few days previously. Bitterly cursing his fate and his misfortune, he commenced embarking his people on board the steamers, and then departed for Mswa, where he arrived on the 22nd of April, to remove south as far as possible from all danger of the Mahdists. He had still abundance of time, if his crass mind could only realise his position. In an hour he could have obtained fuel sufficient from the abandoned station, and might easily have arrived at our Lake Shore camp in nine hours’ steaming. On the 7th May he bethinks himself of our Expedition and of his Pasha, and dictates one letter to us, which when read by us, only provokes a smile.
It says, “We wish to know why you convert Egyptian officers and soldiers into beasts of burden. It has been reported to us that you have cruelly laden all with baggage, and that you convert the soldiers into porters. This is most shameful, and we shall strictly inquire into it.”
Another letter was of very different tenor. It related the treachery of Fadl el Mulla, by whom he had been duped and abandoned, and begging us to wait for him and his people, as absolute ruin stared them in the face. They had but forty cartridges each, and if Kabba Rega attacked them, they must be inevitably destroyed.
The soldiers were called, and they gave us the details. Twenty soldiers had arrived at Mazamboni’s, but only these three had volunteered to follow us. They also pleaded most abjectly for a further delay. The Pasha and I exchanged looks.
“But, my friends,” I asked, “how can we be sure that Selim Bey intends coming after all?”
“He will be sure to do so this time.”
“But why is he waiting at Mswa? Why not have come himself with his steamer to the Lake Shore camp? It is only nine hours’ journey.”
“He heard through some deserters that you had gone on.”
“It might have been easy for him to have overtaken such a big caravan as this, with the few people whom he leads.”
“But everything is going wrong. There are too many counsellors with Selim Bey, and the Egyptian clerks fill his ears with all kinds of stories. He is honest in his wishes to leave the land, but the others bewilder us all with their falsehoods.”
“Well, we cannot stay here to await Selim Bey. I will go on slowly—a couple of hours a day. I must keep these people marching, otherwise the Pasha will be left alone. When we have crossed the Semliki River, we will choose a place on the other side a few days, and then move slowly again for a day or two, and halt. If Selim Bey is serious in his intentions, he will soon overhaul us; and, besides, when we reach the river we will send him a guide that will enable him to travel in four days what will take us twelve days. You will carry a letter from the Pasha to him explaining all this. But you must take care to be kind to the natives, otherwise they will not help you.”
Among our Egyptians there was one called Ali Effendi, a captain, who complained of heart disease. He had been ailing for months. He had nine men and nine women servants, and, in addition to these, twelve carriers were allotted to him. His baggage numbered twenty loads. He could not travel 100 yards; he had also a child of six years that was too small to walk. He required six carriers more, and there was not one to be obtained, unless I authorised levying carriers by force from the natives, an act that would have to be repeated day by day. We persuaded this man to return, as a few days’ march would finish him. As he would not return without his family of fifteen persons, we consigned them to the charge of the couriers of Selim Bey, who would escort him back to their chief.
The guides promised to this dilatory and obtuse Soudanese colonel were despatched, according to promise, with a letter from the Pasha; and though we loitered, and halted, and made short journeys of between one and three hours’ march for a month longer, this was the last communication we had with Selim Bey. What became of him we never discovered, and it is useless to try to conjecture. He was one of those men with whom it was impossible to reason, and upon whose understanding sense has no effect. He was not wicked nor designing, but so stupid that he could only comprehend an order when followed by a menace and weighted with force; but to a man of his rank and native courage, no such order could be given. He was therefore abandoned as a man whom it was impossible to persuade, and still less compel.
