PREPARATIONS FOR THE START.
Everywhere there is jungle of grass, reeds and bamboos, when the rivers are at their height; and amid the forests the great stems of the pandanus, banana and boabab are covered to their tops with a feathery growth of ferns and orchids, and festooned with wild vines and creeping plants. The native villages are almost smothered under the dark luxuriance of plant life, and lions and other beasts of prey can creep up unseen to the very doors of the huts. The whole country becomes a tangled brake, with here and there an open space, or a rough track marking where an elephant, rhinoceros or buffalo has crushed a way in the high grass.
Then ahead of us, and between Gondokoro and the lakes we seek, the country has been so raided by slave hunters, that every native can be counted on as an enemy. Or a native war may be in progress, and if so, great care must be taken to avoid siding with either party. We must retreat here and push on there, avoiding perils of this class as we value our lives. There is no road through Africa of one’s own choice, and none that may not entail an entire backward step for days, and perhaps forever.
At Gondokoro we are in the midst of the Bari tribe. Pagans before, contact with the Arab wanderers and slave stealers has made them savages. They live in low thatched huts, rather neat in appearance, and surrounded by a thick hedge to keep off intruders. The men are well grown and the women not handsome, but the thick lips and flat nose of the negro are wanting. They tattoo their stomachs artistically, and smear their bodies with a greasy pigment of ochre. Their only clothing is a bunch of feathers stuck in the slight tuft of hair which they permit to grow on their heads, and a neat lappet around the loins, of about six inches in depth, to which is appended a tail piece made of shreds of leather or cotton.
Every man carries his weapons, pipe and stool. The former are chiefly the bow and arrows. They use a poisoned arrow when fighting. The effect of the poison in the system is not to kill but to corrode the flesh and bone, till they drop away in pieces. The bows are of bamboo, not very elastic, and the archers are not dexterous.
It was while in Gondokoro, on this his first Nile journey, that Baker had opportunity to study, and occasion to feel, the enormities of the slave traffic. The Moslem traders regarded him as a spy on their nefarious operations. They manacled their slaves more closely and stowed them away securely in remote and secret stockades. Their conduct as citizens was outrageous, for they kept the town in a continual uproar by their drinking bouts, their brawls with the natives, and promiscuous firing of guns and pistols. One of their bullets killed a boy of Baker’s party. It was evident that these marauders were intent on compelling him to make a hasty departure, forthey incited trouble among his men, and inflamed the natives against his presence.
As an instance of the trouble which grew out of this, his men asked the privilege of stealing some cattle from the natives for a feast. He denied their request. A mutiny was the result. Baker ordered the ringleader to be bound and punished with twenty-five lashes. The men refused to administer the punishment and stood by their ringleader. Baker undertook to enforce the order himself, when the black leader rushed at him with a stick. Baker stood his ground and knocked his assailant down with his fist. Then he booted him severely, while his companions looked on in amazement at his boldness and strength. But they rallied, and commenced to pelt him with sticks and stones. His wife saw his danger. She ordered the drums to be beaten and in the midst of the confusion rushed to the rescue. The clangor distracted the attention of the assailants, and a parley ensued. The matter was settled by a withdrawal of the sentence on the condition that the leader should apologize and swear fealty again.
Before Baker could complete his preparations for starting, the fever broke out in Gondokoro, and both he and his wife fell sick. In order to escape the effluvium of the more crowded village, he moved his tents and entire encampment to the high ground above the river. While the animals were healthy, the donkeys and camels were attacked by a greenish brown bird, of the size of a thrush, with a red beak and strong claws. It lit on the beasts to search for vermin, but its beak penetrated the flesh, and once a hole was established, the bird continually enlarged it to the great annoyance of the animal which could neither eat nor sleep. The animals had to be watched by boys continually till their wounds were healed.
An Arab guide, named Mohammed, had been engaged, and the expedition was about to move. Mrs. Baker had brought a boy along from Kartoum, by the name of Saat. He had become quite attached to her, as had another servant named Richarn. The guide, Mohammed, said he had seventy porters ready and that a start could be made on Monday. But the fellow was ina conspiracy to start on Saturday without Baker. Mrs. Baker found it out through Saat and Richarn. She ordered the tents to be struck and a start to be made on the moment. This nonplussed Mohammed. He wavered and hesitated. She brought his accusers face to face with him when, to Baker’s astonishment, the plot came out, that the entire force of porters had conspired to desert as soon as they got the arms and ammunition in their hands, and to kill Baker in case resistance was offered.
Nothing was left but to disarm and discharge the whole force. He gave them written discharges, with the word “mutineer” beneath his signature, and thus the fellows, none of whom could read, went about bearing the evidences of their own guilt. Baker now tried in vain to enlist a new party of porters. The people had been poisoned against him. He applied to Koorschid, a Circassian chief, for ten elephant hunters and two interpreters, but the wily chief avoided him. It looked as if he would have to give over his contemplated journey for the season. But by dint of hard work he managed to gather seventeen men, whom he hoped to make true to him by kind treatment. At this juncture a party of Koorschid’s people arrived from the Latooka country with a number of porters. Their chief, Adda, a man of magnificent proportions, took a fancy to Baker and invited him to visit the Latookas. He was given presents, and his picture was taken, which pleased him greatly. His followers came and were similarly treated and delighted. They agreed to accompany Baker back to their country, but a body of Turkish traders were also going thither. They not only declared that Baker should not have the escort of these people, but actually pressed them into their own service. And then, to make things worse, they threatened to incite the tribes through which they had to pass against him should he dare to follow.
Baker thought he could meet any mischief of this kind by dealing liberally in presents, and so resolved to follow the traders. He loaded his camels and donkeys heavily, and started with his seventeen untried men. Mrs. Baker was mounted on agood Abyssinian horse, carrying several leather bags at the pommel of the saddle. Colonel Baker was similarly mounted and loaded. They had neither guide nor interpreter. Not one native was procurable, owing to the baleful influence of the traders. Their journey began about an hour after sunset, and Colonel Baker, taking the distant mountains of Balignan as his landmark, led the way.
If we are now amid the hardships of an African journey, we are also amid its excitements. Can we outstrip the Turkish traders? If so it will be well, for then they cannot stir up the tribes against us. We will try. But our camels are heavily loaded, and their baggage catches in the overhanging bramble. Every now and then one of those most heavily top laden is swung from his path, and even rolls into a steep gulch, when he has to be unpacked and his load carried up on to the level before being replaced. It is tantalizing for those in a hurry. But the traders are also travelling slowly for they are buying and selling.
Presently two of their Latookas come to us, having deserted. They are thirsty, and direct us to a spot where water can be had. While we are drinking, in comes a party of natives with the decayed head of a wild boar, which they cook and eat, even though the maggots are thick in it. The health of these people does not seem to be affected by even the most putrid flesh.
These Latooka deserters now become guides. They lead the way, with Colonel and Mrs. Baker. The country is that of the Tolloga natives. While we halt under a fig tree to rest and await the rearward party with the laden animals, the Tollogas emerge from their villages and surround us. There are five or six hundred of them, all curious, and especially delighted at sight of our horses. They had never seen a horse before. We inquire for their chief, when a humped-backed little fellow asked in broken Arabic who we were.
Colonel Baker said he was a traveller.
“Do you want ivory?” asked the hunchback.
“We have no use for it.”
“Ah, you want slaves?”
“No we do not want slaves.”
At this there was a shout of laughter, as though such thing could not be. Then the hunchback continued:
“Have you got plenty of cows?”
“No, but plenty of beads and copper.”
“Where are they?”
“With my men. They will be here directly.”
“What countryman are you?”
“An Englishman.”
He had never heard of such a people.
“You are a Turk,” he continued.
“All right; anything you like.”
“And that is your son?” pointing to Mrs. Baker.
“No, that is my wife.”
“Your wife! What a lie! He is a boy.”
“Not a bit of it. This is my wife who has come along with me to see the women of your country.”
“What a lie!” he again exclaimed.
Mrs. Baker was dressed precisely like her husband, except that her sleeves were long while the Colonel’s arms were bare.
Soon Tombe, the chief of the tribe, put in an appearance. He is propitiated with plenty of beads and copper bracelets and drives his importunate people away. The hunchback is employed as interpreter, and now our party is away over a rough road, determined to beat the Turks through the Ellyrian tribe beyond. But it is too late. Their advance is ahead. Their centre passes us in disdain. Their leader, Ibrahim, comes up, scowls and passes on. Mrs. Baker calls to the Colonel to stop him and have a friendly talk. He does so, tells him they need never clash as they are after two entirely different objects. Then he shows him how he could either punish or befriend him once they were back at Kartoum. The old villain listens, and is moved. Baker then gives him a double-barreled gun and some gold. Both parties now march into Ellyria together, glad to escape the rocky defiles which had to be threaded on the last stages of the journey, where many a trader has lost his life.
We here meet with Legge, the chief, who demands blackmail.Baker gives liberally of beads and bracelets, but Legge gives nothing in return, except some honey. Our men have to draw for food on the reserve stores of rice, which they no sooner boil and mix with the honey than along comes Legge and helps himself, eating like a cormorant till he can hold no more. We can only stay here one day, for the people are very annoying and will part with nothing except their honey. So we leave these bullet-headed natives, and start again toward Latooka, over a level country and an easier road.
Old Ibrahim and Colonel and Mrs. Baker now lead the way.
The wily old Arab gets confidential, and informs the Colonel that his men intend to mutiny as soon as they get to Latooka. This news gives the Colonel time to prepare. In two days we enter the Wakkula country, rich in pasturage and abundant in water, literally filled with big game, such as elephants, rhinoceri, buffalo, giraffes, wild boars and antelope. A buffalo is found in a trap, and partly eaten by a lion. The men make a feast of the remainder. It is the first meat they have eaten since they left Gondokoro, and it is a great relish. A hunt by the Colonel brings in several fine antelope, enough to last till Latooka is reached.
And now we are among the Latooka villages. There are Turkish traders there already, for they are gathered in Latome, a border village. They fire off guns, and forbid Ibrahim and his party to pass, claiming an exclusive right to trade there. There is a row between the Moslem traders, in which poor Ibrahim is almost strangled to death. The Colonel observes a strict neutrality, as the time had not come for him to take sides.
After wrangling for hours all retired to sleep. The next morning he calls his men to resume the march. Four of them rise in mutiny, seize their guns and assume a threatening attitude. Belaal, the leader, approaches and says:—
“Not a man shall go with you. Go where you will with Ibrahim, but we won’t move a step. You may employ niggers to load the camels, but not us.”
“Lay down your gun, and load the camels!” thunders the Colonel.
“I won’t,” was the defiant reply.
“Then stop right here!” As quick as a flash the Colonel lands a blow on his jaw, and the ringleader rolls in a heap among the luggage, the gun flying in the opposite direction. There is a momentary panic, during which the Colonel seizes a rifle and rushes among the mutineers, insisting on their going to work and almost dragging them to their places. They obey mechanically. The camels are soon loaded and we are off again. But Ibrahim and his party have been gone for some time.
Belaal and four others soon after desert. The Colonel declares the vultures will soon pick their bones. Four days after, word comes that the deserters have been killed by a party of savages. The rest of the party think it came about in accordance with the Colonel’s prophecy, and credit him with magical powers.
Thirteen miles from Latome is Tarrangolle, the largest Latooka village, where Moy, the chief, resides. Here Ibrahim stopped to collect his ivory and slaves. Crowds came out of the village to meet us, but their chief attraction was Mrs. Baker and the camels. These Latookas are, doubtless, the finest made savages in all Africa. They are tall, muscular and beautifully proportioned. They have high foreheads, large eyes, high cheek bones, small mouths, and full, but not thick lips. Their countenances are pleasing, their manners civil. They are frank but warlike, merry yet always ready for a fight. Tarrangolle has 3000 houses, surrounded by palisades; and each house is fortified by a stockade. The houses are very tall and bell shaped. They are entered by a low door not over two feet high. The interior is clean but unlighted by windows. Their cattle are kept in kraals and are very carefully tended. Their dead, who are killed in war, are allowed to lie on the field as food for vultures. Those who die at home are lightly buried for a time. Then they are exhumed, the flesh stripped off, and the bones put into an earthen jar, which is deposited in the common pile or mound outside of the village. Every village has its burial pile, which is a huge collection of jars. They wear no clothes, but bestow greatattention on their hair. Their weapons are the lance, an iron-head mace, a long bladed knife, and an ugly iron bracelet armed with knife blades four inches long. The women are not as finely shaped as the men. They are large, heavy limbed creatures, used to drudgery.
Chief Moy visits us and looks for the first time on a white person. The Colonel makes presents of beads, bracelets, and a necklace of pearls for Bokke, the chief’s favorite wife. “What a row there will be in the family when my other wives see Bokke’s present,” says the wily old chief. The Colonel takes the hint and gives him three pounds of beads to be divided between his wives. Next day, Bokke comes to the Colonel’s hut, all covered with beads, tatooed on her cheeks, and with a piece of ivory hanging in her lower lip. She is not bad looking, and her daughter is as comely a savage as you ever saw.
Horrid word comes that a party of Turkish traders have been massacred in a Latooka village which they had tried to destroy and to make slaves of the inhabitants. All is now excitement. Ibrahim’s party and our own are in imminent danger. But Moy intercedes for his white guests and appeases the angry natives. Though rich in cattle, our party cannot get a pound of beef from these Latookas. But ducks and geese are plenty in a stream close by, and we are allowed to kill all we want.
Let us look in upon a Latooka funeral dance in honor of a dead warrior. What grotesque dresses the dancers appear in! Ostrich feathers adorn their helmets of hair, leopard and monkey skins hang from their shoulders, bells dangle at a waist belt, an antelope horn is hung round the neck, which is blown in the midst of the excitement. The dancers rush round and round in an “infernal galop,” brandishing lances and maces, and keeping pretty fair time. The women keep outside the lines, dance awkwardly and scream like catamounts. Beyond them are the children, greasy with red ochre and ornamented with beads, keeping time with their feet to the inward movement. One woman runs into the midst of the men and sprinkles ashes promiscuously on all from a gourd. She is fat and ugly, but evidently an important part of the occasion.
These people are bright, and argue in favor of their materialistic belief with great shrewdness. The Colonel tried to illustrate his belief by placing a grain of corn in the ground and observing:—“That represents you when you die.” Covering it with earth, he continued, “The grain will decay, but from it will arise a plant that will reproduce it again in its original form.”
“Precisely,” said old Comorro, brother of Moy, “that I understand. But the original grain does not rise again; it rots like the dead man and is ended; so I die, and am ended; but my children grow up like the fruit of the grain. Some have no children; some grains perish; then all is ended.”
Here we remain for two weeks, waiting till Ibrahim comes back from Gondokoro, whither he had gone with ivory, and whence he has promised to bring a supply of ammunition. Meanwhile we must enjoy a hunt, for evidences of game are plenty. We are soon out among the long grasses, when suddenly a huge rhinoceros bolts from the copse close at hand. The Colonel calls on his companions to bring a gun, but instead of obeying they set up a cry, which is to call attention to a herd of bull elephants in the forest at the end of the grassy plain. Two of the herd spy him and come bearing down upon him. He dismounts to get a shot, but the beasts see the dusky Latookas and rush off again to join their companions. The Colonel quickly mounts and dashes after them, but his horse falls into a buffalo hole and throws him. Mounting again, he pursues, but his game has gotten well into the forest. On he goes after the herd, to find himself in close quarters with a huge beast that comes tearing along, knocking down everything in his track. Firing unsteadily from the saddle, he lodges a bullet in the animal’s shoulder. It turns and makes directly for its assailant, bellowing like a demon. The Colonel puts spurs to his horse, and makes his escape. Arming himself with a heavier gun, he returns to the attack and soon sees the herd again, moving toward him. One princely fellow has a splendid pair of tusks. This he singles out for his game. The elephants at first flee on his approach, but on finding themselves pursued they turn andgive battle. There is no safety there, and again he retreats. A third trial brings him upon the beast he has wounded. It is maddened with pain and dashes at him. Trusting to his horse he rushes out of the tangle. The beast does not give up pursuit but follows on. His horse is jaded, and the riding is dangerous owing to the buffalo holes. The beast gains, and the Colonel’s cowardly companions give no help. A moment more and the beast will be on him. He suddenly wheels his horse, and hears the swish of the elephant’s trunk past his ears, as the monster beast plunges on in its direct course. It gives over the chase, and keeps on up the hill. It is found dead next morning from the effects of the bullet wound. Elephant meat is highly prized by the natives, and the fat also. With the latter they mix the pigments for their bodies. Their favorite method of capturing the animal is by pits, dug very deep in the animal’s path and covered over with light brambles and grasses. They seldom attack with spears, except when they fire the grasses. Then they take advantage of the panic which ensues and attack at close quarters.
Ibrahim returns with plenty of ammunition and reports that he is going to the Obbo country. We are delighted, for it is directly on our way to the “Lakes of the Nile.” So we all go together. The country between Latooka and Obbo, a distance of forty miles, is very beautiful. It abounds in mountains on whose impregnable peaks native villages are seen, and in green valleys filled with game. Wild fruit and nuts are also found in plenty. The journey is easy and quick. The chief of Obbo is Katchiba, an old clownish man who did not beg, for a wonder. He gives a dance in our honor, which is really an artistic affair. The dusky dancers kept excellent time to their drums and sang a wild chorus with considerable effect. The Obbo men wear dresses of skin slung around their shoulders, but the women are nearly naked—the unmarried girls entirely so.
The secret of Chief Katchiba’s power over his tribe is sorcery.
When his people displease him he threatens to curse their goats or wither their flocks. Should rain fail to fall, he tells them he is sorry they have behaved so badly toward him asto merit such a punishment. Should it rain too much, he threatens to pour lightning, storm and rain on them eternally, if they don’t bring him their contribution of goats, corn and beer. They always receive his blessing before starting on a journey, believing it will avert evil. In sickness he is called to charm away the disease. And the old fellow receives so many presents of daughters that he is able to keep a harem in every village of his tribe. He counts 116 living children. Each village is ruled by a son, so that the whole government is a family affair.
The fine old fellow treats us like princes, and gives us much information about the country to the south. The Colonel leaves his wife in the old chief’s care, and we take a little trip, with eight men, to test the accuracy of the old chief’s story about the high water in the river Ashua. We pass through a magnificent country and find the river a roaring torrent. The chief’s story was true. We return to find Mrs. Baker in excellent health and spirits having been kindly cared for during our absence. But the old chief has fared rather badly. He wanted some chickens to present to Mrs. Baker. His people proved stingy, and Katchiba, who could not walk much on account of his infirmities, the chief of which was a head always befuddled with beer, came to ask for the loan of a horse, that he might appear on his back among his people and thus strike terror into them. His former method of travel had been to mount on the back of his subjects, and thus make his state journeys, followed by one of the strongest of his wives, bearing the inevitable beer pitcher.
Though warned by Mrs. Baker of the danger attending such an experiment as he proposed, he persisted, and one of the blooded Abyssinian animals was brought out equipped for a ride. The old chief mounted and told his horse to go. The animal did not understand and stood still. “Hit him with your stick,” said one of the attendants. Thwack! came the chief’s staff across the animal’s shoulders. Quick as lightning a pair of heels flew into the air, and the ancient specimen of African royalty shot over the horse’s head and lay sprawling on the ground. He picked himself up, considerably bruised andsprained, took a wondering look at the horse, and decided that riding a beast of that kind, where one had so far to fall, was not in his line.
A ROYAL JOURNEY.
Since we cannot go on with our journey till the rivers tothe south of us fall, it is best to go back to Latooka, where supplies are more abundant. Katchiba sends us off amid a noisy drum ceremony and with his blessing, his brother going along as a guide. There is a new member of the party, one Ibrahimawa, who had been to all the ends of the earth, as soldier and adventurer. He was of Bornu birth, but had been captured when a boy, and taken into the service of the Sultan of Turkey. Even now he was connected with the Turkish garrison, or squad of observation, at Latooka. He got the whole party into a pretty mess the second day after starting back for Latooka, by bringing in a basketful of fine yams, which happened to be of a poisonous variety. On eating them, all got sick, and had to submit to the penalty of a quick emetic, which brought them round all right.
We now journey easily through the great Latooka, where game is so abundant. In sight is a herd of antelope. The Colonel dismounts to stalk them, but a swarm of baboons spy him and at once set up such a chattering and screeching that the antelope take the alarm and make off. One of the baboons was shot. It was as large as a mastiff and had a long brown mane like a lion. This was taken by the natives for a body ornament. That same evening the Colonel goes out in quest of other game. A herd of giraffes appear, with their long necks stretched up toward the leaves of the mimosa trees, on which they are feeding. He tries to stalk them, but the wary beasts run away in alarm. He follows them for a long way in vain chase. They were twice as fleet as his horse.
We are back again at Latooka. But how changed the scene. The small pox is raging among both natives and Turks. We cannot encamp in the town. Mrs. Baker falls sick with fever. Two horses, three camels and five donkeys die for us. King Moy had induced the Turks to join him in an attack on the Kayala tribe, and the combined forces had been beaten. Thus more enemies had been made. It was no place to stay. So we must back to Obbo, and the old chief Katchiba.
But here things are even worse. The small pox is there ahead of us, carried by careless natives or dirty, unprincipledMoslem traders, and the whole town is in misery. A party of roving traders had raided it and carried off nearly the whole stock of cows and oxen. Our horses all die, and most of our other animals, under the attacks of the dreadful tsetse fly. Both the Colonel and Mrs. Baker fall sick with fever, and the old chief comes in to cure them by enchantment. It rains nearly all the time, and rats and even snakes seek the huts out of the wet. Our stay of two months here is dreary enough, and the wonder is that any of us ever get away.
As soon as the Colonel and Lady Baker can go out they pay a visit to Katchiba, which he appreciates, and invites them into his private quarters. It is only a brewery, where his wives are busy preparing his favorite beer. The old chief invites them to a seat, takes up something which passes for a harp, and asks if he may sing. Expecting something ludicrous, they consent, but are surprised to hear a really well sung and neatly accompanied air. The old fellow is evidently as expert in music as in beer drinking.
Waiting is awful in any African village during the rainy or any other season, and especially if the low fevers of the country are in your system. We have really lost from May to October, on account of the fullness of the streams south of us. Our stock of quinine is nearly gone; our cattle are all dead. Shall we go on? If so, it must be afoot. And afoot it shall be, for we have met an Unyoro slave woman who tells as well as she can about a lake called Luta N’Zige, very nearly where we expect to find the Albert Nyanza.
Now the rains have ceased. Wonderful country! Crops spring up as if by magic, especially the tullaboon, or African corn. But the elephants like it and play havoc by night in the green fields. The Colonel, all ague shaken as he is, determines to have a night’s sport and to bring in some meat which he knows the natives will relish. Starting with a servant and a goodly supply of heavy rifles—among them is “The Baby,” which carries a half pound explosive shell—he digs a watch hole near a corn field. Into this they creep, and are soon notified of the presence of a herd of elephants by the crunching of thecrisp grain. It is dark, but by and by one approaches within twelve paces. Taking the range of the shoulder as well as he can, the contents of “Baby” are sent on their murderous errand. It was then safe to beat a retreat. Next morning the elephant is found near the pit. He is still standing, but soon drops dead. The shot was fatal, but not for several hours. And now such a time as there is among the natives. Three hundred of them gather, and soon dispose of the carcass with their knives and lances. The huge beast was ten feet six inches in height.
By January, the waters in the rivers and gulches have subsided enough to admit of travel. Katchiba gives us three oxen—two for pack animals, and one for Mrs. Baker to ride upon. With these, and a few attendants, we start for the south. But Ibrahim precedes us with an armed body of Turks. He is penetrating the country further in search of ivory and booty. It is well for us to follow in his trail, unless forsooth he should get into a fight.
The Colonel walks eighteen miles to Farajoke where he purchases a riding ox. On January 13, Shooa is reached. It is a veritable land of plenty. There are fowls, goats, butter, milk, and food of all kinds. The natives are delighted to see us, and are greedy for our beads and trumpery. They bring presents of flour and milk to Mrs. Baker, who showers upon them her trinkets in return. The people are not unlike the Obbo’s, but their agriculture is very superior. Our five days here are days of real rest and refreshment.
We make an eight mile march to Fatiko, where the natives are still more friendly. But they insist on such vigorous shaking of hands and such tiresome ceremonies of introduction, that we must hasten away. And now our march is still through a beautiful country for several days. We gradually approach the Karuma Falls, close to the village of Atada, on the opposite side of the river. It is the Unyoro country whose king is Kamrasi.
The natives swarm on their bank of the river, and soon a fleet of canoes comes across. Their occupants are informed that Col. Baker wishes to see the king, in order to thank him forthe kindness he had extended to the two Englishmen, Speke and Grant on their visit. The boatmen are suspicious, for only a short time before a party of Arab traders had allied themselves with Kamrasi’s enemies and slain 300 of his people. It takes two whole days to overcome the king’s suspicions, and many gifts of beads and trinkets. Finally we are ferried across, but oh! the tedious wait to get a royal interview! And then the surprise, when it did come.
There sits the king on a copper stool placed on a carpet of leopard skins, surrounded by his ten principal chiefs. He is six feet tall, of dark brown skin, pleasing countenance, clothed in a long rich robe of bark-cloth, with well dressed hands and feet, and perfectly clean. Baker explains his object in calling and gives rich presents, among which is a double barrelled gun. The king takes to the gun and orders it to be fired off. The attendants run away in fright, at which the king laughs heartily, as though he had discovered a new test for their courage or played a capital joke. He then makes return presents, among which are seventeen cows.
Thus friendship is established. The king asks for our help against the Riongas, his bitterest enemies. We decline, but in turn ask for porters and guides. The king promises heartily, but as often breaks his promises, for his object is to keep us with him as long as we have presents to give.
These chiefs, or kings, of the native tribes are the greatest nuisances in Africa—not even excepting the mosquitoes. They make the traveller pay court at every stage of his journey, and they know the value of delay in granting a hearing. The wrongs of the humble negro are many. His faults are as many, and among them are his careless good humor and light heartedness—things that in northern climes or under other circumstances might be classed as redeeming traits. But the faults of the average African king—there are exceptions to the rule—are such to try our patience in the extreme. He is as ignorant as his subjects, yet is complete master of their lives. His cruelty, rapacity and sensuality are nurtured in him from birth, and there is no antic he will not play in the name of his authority.In his own eyes he is a demi-god, yet he is seen by visitors only as a dirty, freakish, cruel, tantalizing savage, insisting upon a court which has no seriousness about it.
Accomplished and friendly as King Kamrasi seems to be, he is full of duplicity, cruelty, and rapacity. Speke and Grant complained of his inordinate greed, and we have just seen for what motive he delayed us for three weeks. And scarcely have we gone ten miles when he overtakes us, to ask for other presents and the Colonel’s watch, for which he had taken a great fancy. On being refused this, he coolly informs the Colonel that he would send his party to the lake according to promise, but that he must leave Mrs. Baker behind with him. The Colonel draws his revolver and, placing it at the breast of the king, explains the insult conveyed in such a proposition in civilized countries, and tells him he would be warranted in riddling him on the spot, if he dared to repeat the request, or rather command. Mrs. Baker makes known her horror of the proposition, and the crafty king, finding his cupidity has carried him too far, says he has no intention of offending. “I will give you a wife if you want one,” he continued, “and I thought you might give me yours. I have given visitors many pretty wives. Don’t be offended. I will never mention the matter again.” To make further amends he sends along with our party several women as luggage carriers, as far as to the next village.
To show how prankish and pitiable royalty is among even a tribe like the Unyoro’s, who dress with some care, and disdain the less intelligent tribes about them, it turned out that this Kamrasi was not the real king at all, but only a substitute, and that the regularly annointed Kamrasi was in a fit of the sulks off in his private quarters, all the time of our visit.
The march is now a long one of eighteen days through the dense forests and swamps of the Kafoor River. Mrs. Baker is sick with fever incident to a sun-stroke, and has to be borne upon a litter most of the way. In crossing the Kafoor upon the “sponge,” it yields to the weight of the footmen, and she is saved from sinking beneath the treacherous surface by the Colonel, who orders the men to quickly lay their burden downand scatter. The “sponge” proves strong enough to bear the weight of the litter alone, and it is safely hauled on to a firmer part by her husband and an attendant.
We are now near our goal and all the party are enthusiastic. Ascending a gentle slope, on a beautiful clear morning, the glory of our prize suddenly bursts upon us. There, like a sea of quicksilver, lays far beneath us the grand expanse of waters—the Luta Nzigé then, but soon to be christened the Albert Nyanza. Its white waves break on a pebbly beach fifteen hundred feet below us. On the west, fifty or sixty miles distant, blue mountains rise to a height of 7000 feet. Northward the gleaming expanse of waters seem limitless. Here is the reward of all our labor. It is a basin worthy of its great function as a gathering place of the headwaters of the Nile, which issue in a full grown stream from its northern end.
Using Colonel Baker’s own language,—“Long before I reached the spot I had arranged to give three English cheers in honor of the discovery, but now that I looked down upon the great inland sea lying nestled in the very heart of Africa, and thought how vainly mankind had sought these sources throughout so many ages, and reflected that I had been the humble instrument permitted to unravel this portion of the great mystery when so many greater than I had failed, I felt too serious to vent my feelings in vain cheers for victory, and I sincerely thanked God for having guided and supported us through all dangers to the good end. As I looked down from the steep granite cliffs upon those welcome waters, on that vast reservoir which nourished Egypt and brought fertility where all was wilderness, on that great source so long hidden from mankind; that source of bounty and of blessings to millions of human beings; and as one of the greatest objects in nature, I determined to honor it with a great name. As an imperishable memorial of one loved and mourned by our gracious Queen and deplored by every Englishman, I called the great lake ‘the Albert Nyanza.’ The Victoria and the Albert Lakes are the two sources of the Nile. My wife, who had followed me so devotedly, stood by my side, pale and exhausted—a wreck uponthe shores of the great Albert Lake that we had so long striven to reach. No European foot had ever trod upon its sand, nor had the eyes of a white man ever scanned its vast expanse of water. We were the first; and this was the key to the great secret that even Julius Cæsar yearned to unravel, but in vain.”
And now the lake is christened. We rush down to the shores and bathe our feet in its clear fresh waters. Then we prepare a frail canoe, large enough to carry our party of thirteen and manned with twenty oarsmen. In this we skirt the lake northward from where we first touch it at Vacovia. The journey is full of novelty. Every now and then we get a shot at a crocodile, or a hippopotamus, and herds of elephants are seen along the shores. Thunder storms are frequent, making the navigation dangerous. The heat at midday drives us into the shade. Our work hours are in the mornings and evenings. Here we pass under beetling precipices that line this eastern shore, down which jets of water—each a Nile source—are seen plunging from the height of a thousand feet. There we float through flat wastes of reeds, and water plants and floating rafts of vegetable matter in every stage of growth and decay.
On the thirteenth day we reach the point where the waters from Lake Victoria Nyanza enter the Albert Nyanza. They pour in through the Victoria River, or as some call it, the Somerset River. Now arises a momentous question. Shall we go further. If we are not back in Gondokoro in a few weeks we may leave our bones in Central Africa. We are a fatigued, even a sick party, and the season is approaching when a white man had better be away from under the Equator. The Colonel proposes to forego further navigation and return. Lady Baker, with a fervor the Colonel seems to have lost, proposes to go to the other end of the lake in order to make sure that it is an ultimate reservoir of the Nile.
THE MURCHISON FALLS.
Away off northward from where we are, some thirty miles, can be seen with the glasses the outlet of the lake—the Nile. It is settled that the inflow from Victoria Nyanza and the outlet northward are thus close together. But is that outlet theNile after all? Lady Baker wants to settle this question too, and she proposes, after circumnavigating the lake and provingthat it is an ultimate source, to descend the Nile through the northern outlet. But the Colonel urges want of time. The attendants tell horrible stories of dangerous falls and hostile natives. So we decide against Mrs. Baker, and, taking the Colonel’s advice, begin to ascend the Victoria Nile toward lake Victoria Nyanza, that being in the direction of our homeward march. We go but a few miles till a new marvel greets us—the Murchison Falls. On either side of the river are beautiful wooded cliffs 300 feet high. Bold rocks jut out from an intensely green foliage. Rushing through a gap in the rock directly ahead of us, the river, contracted from a broad stream above, grows narrower and narrower, till where the gorge is scarcely fifty yards wide, it makes one stupendous leap over a precipice 120 feet high, into the dark abyss below. The river then widens and grows sluggish again. Anywhere can be seen numberless crocodiles. While the Colonel is sketching the Falls, one of these animals comes close to the boat. He cannot resist a shot at it. The canoemen are disturbed and allow the boat to get an ugly swing on them. It strikes into a bunch of reeds, when out rushes a huge hippopotamus in fright and bumps against the canoe, almost oversetting it.
There are cataracts innumerable on the Nile, but this is its greatest water fall, and a majestic picture it is. Our return journey to Gondokoro repeats many of our former experiences. We revisit the same tribes and meet with the same adventures. Kartoum is reached in May, 1865. Then we go by boat to Berber, and thence by caravan across the desert to Sonakim on the Red Sea, where a steamer is taken for England, and where the Colonel receives the medal bestowed on him by the Royal Geographical Society.
In concluding this long journey we must ever regret that Colonel Baker did not do more to make sure of the honors of his discovery. Since then Gordon Pasha and M. Gessi have navigated Albert Nyanza. They curtailed the proportions it showed on first maps, and proved that, as Lady Baker supposed, it had a southern inlet, which was traced for a hundred miles till it ended in a mighty ambatch swamp, or collection ofstagnant waters, which may be counted as the Lake Nzige of the natives, and of which Colonel Baker so often heard.
These travellers also settled forever one of the delusions under which Livingstone ever labored, and that was, that the sources of the Nile must be sought as far south as the great Lake Tanganyika, and even further.
Since then, other travellers have traced the whole course of the Victoria Nile to Lake Victoria Nyanza, discovering on their way a new lake, Ibrahim. And this brings us to Victoria Nyanza again, which must be studied more fully, for after all we may not have seen in Albert Nyanza, so much of an ultimate Nile reservoir as we thought. It is hard too, of course, to rob our travels of their glory, but we cannot bear laurels at the expense of after discovered truth.
It was in 1858 that Speke and Grant, pushing their perilous way westward from Zanzibar on the east coast of Africa, discovered and partly navigated Lake Tanganyika, probably the greatest fresh water reservoir in Central Africa. On their return journey, and while resting at Unyanyembe, Speke heard from an Arab source of a still larger lake to the north. Grant was suspicious of the information, and remained where he was, while Speke made a trial. After a three weeks march over an undulating country, intersected by streams flowing northward, he came in view (July 30, 1858) of the head of a deep gulf expanding to the north. Pursuing his journey along its eastern cliffs, he saw that it opened into an ocean-like expanse of water, girted by forests on the right and left, but stretching eastward and northward into space. He felt that he stood on a Nile source, but could not inquire further then.
When he returned to England and made his discovery known, powerful arguments sprang up about these Nile sources. Speke and one school contended the Nile reservoirs were under the equator and that Victoria Nyanza was one of them, if not the only one. Burton and others contended that Tanganyika, and perhaps a series of lakes further south, must be the true sources. So in 1860 Speke and Grant were back in Africa, determined to solve the mystery. They were kept back bydelays till 1862, when, as we have seen, they caught sight of the lake they sought. Keeping on high ground, they followed it northward to Uganda where they fell in with Mtesa, the king. Mtesa has been painted in all sorts of colors by different explorers. Speke and Grant formed the worst possible opinion of him, but they passed through his dominions safely, till they came to the northern outlet of the lake—the Victoria Nile. Taking for granted that this was the real Nile, they cut across the country to Gondokoro, where they met Baker on his southern march, as we have already seen.
This unsatisfactory journey did not set controversy at rest. Speke’s opponents ridiculed the idea of a body of water, 250 miles long and 7000 feet above the sea level, existing right under the Equator. Moreover they denied that its northern outlet was the Nile, or if so, that there must be a southern inlet. All the old maps located the sources of the stream further south. Colonel Baker heard a native story, in 1869, to the effect that boats had gone from Albert Nyanza to Ujiji on lake Tanganyika. Livingstone held firmly to the opinion that all these equatorial lakes were one with Tanganyika—till he disproved it himself. He never was convinced that Victoria Nyanza existed at all as Speke had mapped it, nor that it had any connection with the Nile River.
Thus what Baker and Speke and Grant had been glorying in as great discoveries, but which they failed to establish by full research, was still a puzzle. They are not to be robbed of any honors, but it is not claiming too much to say that the real discoverer of the true Nile reservoir is due to the American Stanley. At least he resolved to solve the problem finally and set discussion at rest. He would establish the claims of Victoria Nyanza to vastness and to its functions as a Nile source, or show it up as a humbug.
Henry M. Stanley is no ordinary figure among African explorers. In tenacity of purpose, courage and endurance, he is second only to Livingstone. In originality, insight and crowning effort, he is ahead of all. He introduced a new method of African travel and brought a new power at his back. Already he had, underthe auspices of the New YorkHerald, made a successful Central African journey and “discovered Livingstone.” On his present expedition he was accredited to both American and English papers, and bore the flags of the two countries. He travelled in a half scientific and half military fashion.