The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (48 page)

It was only five minutes’ work clearing the river. We picked up several shields, and I gave orders that all shields should be henceforth religiously preserved, for the idea had entered my
head that they would answer capitally as bulwarks for our canoes. An hour after this we passed close to the confluence of the Urindi – a stream 400 yards in width at the mouth, and deep with
water of a light colour, and tolerably clear.

We continued down river along the right bank, and at 4 p.m. camped in a dense low jungle, the haunt of the hippopotamus and elephant during the dry season. When the river is in flood a much
larger tract must be under water.

The left bank was between seventy and eighty feet high; and a point bearing from camp north-west was about one hundred and fifty feet high.

The traveller’s first duty in lands infested by lions and leopards, is to build a safe corral, kraal, or boma, for himself, his oxen, horses, servants; and in lands infested like Usongora
Meno and Kasera – wherein we now were – by human lions and leopards, the duty became still more imperative. We drew our canoes, therefore, halfway upon the banks, and our camp was in
the midst of an impenetrable jungle.

On the high bluffs opposite was situated Vina-Kya. The inhabitants at once manned their drums and canoes, and advanced towards our camp. We could not help it. Here we were camped in a low
jungle. How could the most captious, or the most cruel, of men find any cause or heart to blame us for resting on this utterly uninhabitable spot? Yet the savages of Vina-Kya did. Our interpreters
were urged to be eloquent. And indeed they were, if I may judge by the gestures, which was the only language that was comprehensible to me. I was affected with a strange, envious admiration for
those two young fellows, cannibals it is true, but endowed, none the less, with a talent for making even senseless limbs speak – and they appeared to have affected the savages of Vina-Kya
also. At any rate, the wild natures relented for that day; but they promised to decapitate us early in the morning, for the sake of a horrid barbecue they intended to hold. We resolved not to wait
for the entertainment.

At dawn we embarked, and descended about two miles, close to the right bank, when, lo! the broad mouth of the magnificent Lowwa, or Rowwa, river burst upon the view. It was over a thousand yards
wide, and its course by compass was from the south-east, or east-south-east true. A sudden rain-storm compelled us to camp on the north bank, and here we found ourselves under the shadows of the
primeval forest.

Judging from the height and size of these trees, I doubt whether the right bank of the Livingstone at the mouth of the Lowwa river was ever at any time inhabited. An impenetrable undergrowth
consisting of a heterogeneous variety of ferns, young palms, date, doum,
Raphia vinifera,
and the
Mucuna pruriens
– the dread of the naked native for the tenacity with which its
stinging sharp-pointed bristles attach themselves to the skin – masses of the capsicum plant, a hundred species of clambering vines, caoutchouc creepers, llianes, and endless lengths of
rattan cane intermeshed and entangled, was jealously sheltered from sunlight by high, over-arching, and interlacing branches of fine grey-stemmed Rubiacæ, camwood and bombax, teak, elais
palms, ficus, with thick fleshy leaves, and tall gum-trees. Such is the home of the elephants which through this undergrowth have trodden the only paths available. In the forks of trees were seen
large lumps, a spongy excrescence, which fosters orchids and tender ferns, and from many of the branches depended the Usnæ moss in graceful and delicate fringes. Along the brown clayey
shores, wherever there is the slightest indentation in the banks and still water, were to be found the Cyperacæ sedge, and in deeper recesses and shallow water the papyrus.

One hears much about “the silence of the forest” – but the tropical forest is not silent to the keen observer. The hum and murmur of hundreds of busy insect tribes make
populous the twilight shadows that reign under the primeval growth. I hear the grinding of millions of mandibles, the furious hiss of a tribe just alarmed or about to rush to battle, millions of
tiny wings rustling through the nether air, the march of an insect tribe under the leaves, the startling leap of an awakened mantis, the chirp of some eager and garrulous cricket, the buzz of an
ant-lion, the roar of a bullfrog. Add to these the crackle of twigs, the fall of leaves, the dropping of nut and berry, the occasional crash of a branch, or the constant creaking and swaying of the
forest tops as the strong wind brushes them or the gentle breezes awake them to whispers. Though one were blind and alone in the midst of a real tropical forest, one’s sense of hearing would
be painfully alive to the fact that an incredible number of minute industries, whose number one could never hope to estimate, were active in the shades. Silence is impossible in a tropical
forest.

About ten o’clock, as we cowered in most miserable condition under the rude, leafy shelters we had hastily thrown up, the people of the wooded bluffs of Iryamba, opposite the Lowwa
confluence, came over to see what strange beings were those who had preferred the secrecy of the uninhabited grove to their own loud roystering society. Stock still we sat cowering in our leafy
coverts, but the mild reproachful voice of Katembo, our cannibal interpreter, was heard labouring in the interests of peace, brotherhood, and goodwill. The rain pattered so incessantly that I could
from my position only faintly hear Katembo’s voice pleading, earnestly yet mildly, with his unsophisticated brothers of Iryamba, but I felt convinced from the angelic tones that they would
act as a sedative on any living creature except a rhinoceros or a crocodile. The long-drawn bleating sound of the word “Sen-nen-neh,” which I heard frequently uttered by Katembo, I
studied until I became quite as proficient in it as he himself.

Peace was finally made between Katembo on the one hand and the canoe-men of Iryamba on the other, and they drew near to gaze at their leisure at one of the sallow white men, who with great
hollow eyes peered, from under the vizor of his cap, on the well-fed bronze-skinned aborigines.

After selling us ten gigantic plantains, 13 inches long and 3 inches in diameter, they informed us that we had halted on the shore of Luru, or Lulu, in the uninhabited portion of the territory
of Wanpuma, a tribe which lived inland; that the Lowwa came from the east, and was formed of two rivers, called the Lulu from the north-east, and the Lowwa from the south-east; that about a
day’s journey up the Lowwa river was a great cataract, which was “very loud.”

At 2
P.M.
we left our camp in the forest of Luru, and pulled across to the Iryamba side of the Livingstone. But as soon as the rain had ceased, a strong breeze had risen,
which, when we were in mid-river, increased to a tempest from the north, and created great heavy waves, which caused the foundering of two of our canoes, the drowning of two of our men, Farjalla
Baraka and Nasib, and the loss of four muskets and one sack of beads. Half a dozen other canoes were in great danger for a time, but no more fatal accidents occurred.

I feared lest this disaster might cause the people to rebel and compel me to return, for it had shocked them greatly; but I was cheered to hear them remark that the sudden loss of their comrades
had been ordained by fate, and that no precautions would have availed to save them. But though omens and auguries were delivered by the pessimists among us, not one hazarded aloud the belief that
we ought to relinquish our projects; yet they were all evidently cowed by our sudden misfortune.

On the 31st, the last day of the year 1876, we resumed our voyage. The morning was beautiful, the sky blue and clear, the tall forest still and dark, the river flowed without a ripple, like a
solid mass of polished silver. Everything promised fair. But from the island below, the confluence of the Lowwa and the Livingstone, the warning drum sounded loudly over the river, and other drums
soon echoed the dull boom.

“Keep together, my men,” I cried, “there may be hot work for us below.”

We resolved to keep in mid-stream, because both the island and the left bank appeared to be extremely populous, and to paddle slowly and steadily down river. The canoes of the natives darted
from either shore, and there seemed to be every disposition made for a furious attack; but as we drew near, we shouted out to them, “Friends, Sennenneh! Keep away from us. We shall not hurt
you; but don’t lift your spears, or we’ll fight.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, wherein spears were clashed against shields, and some fierce words uttered, but finally the canoes drew back, and as we continued to paddle, the river with
its stiff current soon bore us down, rapidly past the populous district and island.

The beginning of the new year, 1877, commenced, the first three hours after sunrise, with a delicious journey past an uninhabited tract, when my mind, wearied with daily solicitude, found repose
in dwelling musingly upon the deep slumber of Nature. Outwardly the forest was all beauty, solemn peace, and soft dreamy rest, tempting one to sentiment and mild melancholy. Though it was vain to
endeavour to penetrate with our eyes into the dense wall of forest – black and impervious to the sunlight which almost seemed to burn up the river – what could restrain the imagination?
These were my calm hours, periods when my heart, oblivious of the dark and evil days we had passed, resolutely closed itself against all dismal forebodings, and revelled in the exquisite stillness
of the uninhabited wilderness.

But soon after nine o’clock we discovered we were approaching settlements, both on islands and on the banks, and again the hoarse war-drums awaked the echoes of the forest, boomed along
the river, and quickened our pulses.

We descend in close order as before, and steadily pursue our way. But, heading us off, about ten long canoes dart out from the shadow of palmy banks, and the wild crews begin to chant their
war-songs, and now and then, in attitudes of bravado and defiance, raise spears and shields aloft and bring them downward with sounding clash.

As we approached them, we shouted out “Sen-nen-neh” – our Sesame and Shibboleth, our watchword and countersign. But they would not respond.

Hitherto they had called us Wasambye; we were now called Wajiwa (people of the sun?); our guns were called Katadzi, while before they were styled Kibongeh, or lightning. Katembo was implored to
be eloquent, mild of voice, pacific in gesture.

They replied, “We shall eat Wajiwa meat to-day. Oho, we shall eat Wajiwa meat!” and then an old chief gave some word of command, and at once 100 paddles beat the water into foam, and
the canoes darted at us. But the contest was short, and we were permitted to pursue our voyage.

The river, beyond these islands, expanded to a breadth of 3000 yards: the left bank being high, and the right low. At noon we were in south latitude 1° 10'.

Five miles below, the river narrowed to about 2800 yards, and then we floated down past an uninhabited stretch, the interval affording us rest, until, reaching the southern end of a large
island, we camped, lest we might be plunged into hostilities once more.

The 2nd January was a lively day. We first ran the gauntlet past Kirembuka, an exciting affair, and next we were challenged by Mwana-Mara’s fierce sons, who were soon joined by Mwana
Vibondo’s people, and about 10.30 a.m. we had to repulse an attack made by the natives of Lombo a Kiriro. We had fought for three hours almost without a pause, for the Kewanjawa and Watomba
tribe from the left bank had joined in the savage mêlée, and had assisted the tribes of the right bank. Then for an hour we had rest; but after that we came to islands, which we
afterwards discovered were called Kibombo, and, finding the tribe of Amu Nyam preparing for battle with animation, we took advantage of one of the group to see if we could not negotiate a peaceful
passage before risking another fight. The latitude of this island was south 0° 52' 0".

Katembo, our interpreter, and his friend, were despatched in a canoe manned by eight men, halfway to the shore, to speak fair and sweet words of peace to the Amu Nyam. No verbal answer was given
to them, but they had to retreat in a desperate hurry before a rapidly advancing crowd of canoes. The Amu Nyams had evidently not had time to be undeceived by their friends above, for they came up
with a dauntless bearing, as though accustomed to victory. Yet we held out copper armlets and long strings of shells to them, vociferously shouting out “Sen-nen-neh,” with appropriate
and plausible gestures. They laughed at us; and one fellow, who had a mighty door-like shield painted black with soot, using his long spear as an index finger, asked us – if Katembo spoke
correctly – if we thought we could disappoint them of so much meat by the presents of a few shells and a little copper.

Our canoes were lying broadside along the reedy island, and as soon as the first spears were thrown, the Wangwana received orders to reply to them with brass slugs, which created such a panic
that a couple of shots from each man sufficed to drive them back in confusion. After a while they recovered, and from a distance began to fly their poisoned arrows; but the Sniders responded to
them so effectually that they finally desisted, and we were again free from our meat-loving antagonists.

About 2 p.m. we dropped down river again a few miles, and at 4.30 p.m. halted to camp at an old clearing on the right bank. Had we dared, we might have continued our journey by night, but
prudence forbade the attempt, as cataracts might have been more disastrous than cannibals.

Near sunset we were once more alarmed by finding arrows dropping into the camp. Of course there was a general rush to guns; but, upon noting the direction whence the arrows came, I ordered the
people simply to go on about their duties as though nothing had occurred, while I sent twenty men in two canoes down the river with instructions to advance upon the enemy from behind, but by no
means to fire unless they were overwhelmed in numbers.