The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (51 page)

Our position in the forest was a somewhat awkward one, distant as we were from all food supplies, and it became necessary to move forward. Owing to the rains, the incompetency of our former
guide, and the scarcity of food in the country, our progress had been exceedingly slow, and we got quite irritable in our anxiety to push ahead. As soon therefore as Johnston found himself able to
rise, though still unable to walk, he determined, in spite of his illness, to set out once more. This was an unfortunate decision. He was improving rapidly, and a few days’ more rest would
have given him a fair chance of throwing off the dysentery. But in his eagerness to proceed there could be no rest for him, at least until we should have reached an important village, called
Behobeho, which we had heard much of. As we unhappily were not supplied with a hammock or other convenience for carrying an invalid, we set to work, and with the aid of some of the men, we
contrived to fix up a rude concern, which was certainly not of the most comfortable nature, but was the best we could produce with the materials at our command.

Resuming our journey, we kept in a south-westerly direction, entering the drainage basin of the Rufiji. The streams we had crossed as far as Mkamba form the head waters and tributaries of the
Mzinga River, which, as we have already noticed, flows in a northerly direction to the Dar-es-Salaam creek. Between Mkamba and Msangapwani four considerable streams, with a number of minor ones,
find their way direcdy east to the coast. At the point we had now reached the versant and drainage is towards the river Rufiji.

The country maintained much of the general character which we have already described, only it was much more flat, spreading out like an immense plain. We missed the coast fruit-trees – the
moisture-loving cocoa-nut, the luscious mango, and the stinking jack-fruit. No cultivated fields or inhabited villages met our eye. To add to the desolation of our surroundings, a great stillness
pervaded the solitude, and nothing animate seemed to exist. There were no pretty chattering weaver-birds; no golden-vented thrush sent forth its joyous music; and the tooting of the tepe-tepe was
hushed. Sunbirds, orioles, all were alike absent. Only occasionally from the surrounding forest was the cry of the hornbill, or of the omnipresent wood-pigeon heard, or it might be the caw of a
parson crow.

In trudging along through some of the forest tracts, we were frequently in danger of broken legs, or sprained ankles, owing to the hundreds of deep grass-hidden pits from which the natives
extract the gum-copal, of which all our best varnishes are made. As it was we several times got severe falls in very sudden and unexpected ways.

Having to occupy Mr. Johnston’s place in the caravan during his illness, I began to learn what a dreadful nuisance the ordinary Unyamwesi donkey is. We had five of them bringing up the
rear, each with a load equal to what would be carried by two men. Each one, however, required the services of a man to tug, swear at, and thrash him. So that a donkey was only equal after all to
one man. But their value for purposes of transport sank into insignificance when one thought of the immense amount of trouble and delay they caused to the entire caravan. In a week the donkey-boys
had lost all moral control of themselves, and indulged in nothing but profane language, till it was feared they would become insane from the amount of irritation they were subjected to. While
loading in the morning it required about ten men to each beast, and success was only attained after a severe struggle. Once loaded they usually took the first opportunity to walk into the nearest
thorny mass of scrub, where, madly and frequently successfully, they would strive to leave their loads behind. A quarter of an hour would then be spent in releasing them from their entanglements.
Finally, all ready, off we would go, though with our moral balance very much upset. The donkey for a time would look like a lamb in its meekness, till, finding our vigilance relaxed, smash it would
go against a tree-trunk, breaking girths and saddle-bags, and scattering the load on the pathway. Then, with unmitigated thumps and screams of rage, the donkey-boy, at his wit’s end, would
dance about shouting for help. Thus another half-hour would be wasted in mending the saddlebags and reloading.

When a stream had to be crossed more trouble and delay ensued. The loads required to be taken off and carried across by the men. Then a grand fight would commence to get the donkeys over to be
reloaded again. In this manner a day’s march in charge of the perverse brutes, became a weariness to the flesh, and left us little time to attend to anything else.

It was with a genuine feeling of relief we saw these weak creatures die off by some mysterious malady. What exactly was the occasion of their death one after the other it would be difficult to
say. I do not think it was the tsetse; neither was it bad treatment, nor the want of food. The climate and the nature of the food seemed to be the chief causes. In the low swampy regions, covered
with dense jungle-grass, neither bullock, horse, nor ass seems to thrive, except where the greatest care is taken of them. They require to be either fed on specially collected food, or allowed to
stray only on parts which have been under cultivation, where the grass appears to become more wholesome.

Two marches from our camp in the forest brought us to the banks of the Rufiji River, at a village called Kimkumbi. These two long marches naturally told very severely upon Johnston, owing to the
rude mode of conveyance at our command. The pain of his disease was much aggravated by the exceedingly unpleasant jolting trot of the carriers along slippery pathways, where a firm, steady footing
was quite out of the question. On several occasions they nearly fell with their precious load. Moreover, to be carried under such a sun was of itself sufficient to knock up any one. His tortures
under such circumstances were simply dreadful, and when we arrived at Kimkumbi he felt half dead. His body was stiff and swollen, and he was utterly unable to taste a particle of food. The only
means by which he could sustain his waning energies was an occasional sip of brandy and water.

In order that he might recruit slightly, a day’s halt was determined on. This I took advantage of to examine the river.

The Rufiji, notwithstanding its large size and apparent importance as a water-way to the interior, has as yet been little explored, owing to the difficulties attaching to its navigation, and the
malarious nature of the bordering country. The sight which met my view was exceedingly disappointing. Instead of a noble river, winding along between well-defined banks, there seemed to be only a
great swamp broken here and there by sandy islands, and huge sedgy tracts, the haunt of innumerable herons, storks, ducks, geese, king-fishers, ibises, and every variety of waterfowl to be found in
the tropics, along with the clumsy hippopotamus and the dangerous crocodile.

Somewhat improved by the day’s rest, Johnston, despite my anxious protestations, determined to start again. There should be no more stoppage till Behobeho was reached!

The conditions of travelling had now, however, very much changed. The rainy season was over, and from a clear cloudless sky the sun beat down with withering effect. The change in the appearance
of the country was no less marked; swamps and marshes were replaced by dry, burnt-up deserts, which were extremely painful to traverse, as the mud, during the rains, had been cut up and wrinkled by
the feet of wild game into a surface of the greatest irregularity, which had then got baked and hardened by the sun to the consistence of stone. Over this the men painfully limped with their bare
feet. Not a drop of running water was to be got, and we had to be content with the slimy water of pits or small ponds, befouled by rotting vegetation. The dense matted bush and tall jungle-grass
with which we have become acquainted in Uzaramo, gave place to open ground covered with scattered thorny acacias. These proved to be a terrible nuisance to the bare feet and legs of the porters.
The fallen thorns on the pathways were continually getting into their feet, and laming them in the most painful manner.

The first day we marched for two hours along the banks of the Rufiji; then striking away from them we traversed a shrivelled up plain with small stunted trees, camping early at a village called
Mtemere. We found the country bordering the river here was covered with deep lagoons and back-waters, where myriads of wading and other aquatic birds found a congenial residence. As the river could
not be seen from the village I made an attempt to reach it in a most extraordinary log of hollowed wood, which rejoiced in the name of a canoe. It did not say much for the arboreal growths of the
neighbourhood that no better tree could be got than one shaped like the letter S. Yet such was the elegant outline of the craft in which I took passage. However, in the quiet lagoons, I thought we
could not be in much danger, and I squeezed myself in accordingly. We failed to reach the Rufiji, but none the less enjoyed the pleasant sail among the huge sedges, with their screaming feathered
inhabitants flying about in immense and varied flocks.

The next three marches led us still in the same direction (W.N.W.), through the weary desert, so utterly devoid of all interest as to make the sight of a herd of antelopes, or other large game,
a matter of the greatest excitement. At some times of the year this district must be overrun with game, to judge from the way in which the ground is ploughed up with their feet. When we passed,
however, they seemed to have shifted to more congenial parts. Occasionally a herd of antelope or quagga appeared in the distance, but carefully keeping out of gunshot; and as the open character of
the ground and the abundance of dangerous thorns made stalking impossible, we had to be content with watching them a good way off.

By this time I had forgotten the humiliating result of our Mkamba hunting, and having camped one day at what seemed a promising place, I went out, taking with me the giant Beduè, to knock
over, as I expected, a few nice antelopes. With the sporting fever still as strong within me as ever, off I started, full of sanguine hopes. The day was fast declining. We moved stealthily about
for some time, like villains intent on mischief, peering eagerly here and there, and straining eyes and ears. As the shadows deepened, our imagination conjured up abundance of game. Like wary
sportsmen, down we would drop on our knees, and suppressing heroically any interjections which might be suggested by the probing of the numerous thorns, we would carefully crawl up behind a bush,
only to find that after all there was nothing to be seen. Darkness come on, and our toil was still unrewarded. We began to think of returning home, when suddenly, on emerging from a dense bush, we
came upon a fine group of large antelopes. We saw each other simultaneously, and we exhibited mutual surprise. I was so struck with the fine pose of the figures and their look of alarm and
astonishment, that I utterly forgot to put my gun to my shoulder; while they, paralyzed with fear, stood for a moment, uncertain what to do. Beduè, more practically minded, finally called
out, “Piga, piga bunduki, Bwana!” (Shoot, shoot, master.) The words instantly broke the spell. With one grand bound they were into the forest, and lost in the darkness before I could
raise my gun. We did not get another chance; and fearful of losing our way in the darkness, we returned, not without difficulty, to camp, heated and tired by our exertion, and withal disappointed
with African sport, the only result being a bad cold, torn clothes, scratched skin, and general depression of spirits.

Small snakes are very common in this dry region, and we came frequently into unpleasant proximity. More than once did they glide over my foot, and I have frequently had my presence of mind upset
by finding myself sitting down beside them. No accident happened, however, from their abundance, though there were many narrow escapes.

The horror with which the natives regard these venomous creatures is very great. I remember well on one occasion how I scattered a whole village, and my men besides, by coming amongst them
holding by the neck a large green snake, eight feet long, which I had stunned and then picked up. It wriggled itself round my arm, and body, though of course it could not bite, and when I appeared
in this fashion, the people broke and fled in astonishment and fear. Before I could disengage myself I had of course to kill it.

On the 20th of June we emerged from this dreary waste, and entered a more undulating piece of ground covered with quartz pebbles. We crossed a delicious crystal stream, flowing between richly
clad banks, with a sandy bed, the first clear running water we had seen since leaving England. The vegetation in its rich and varied luxuriance reminded us by its creepers and fine trees of the
Usambara mountains, and the whole country seemed to have put on a holiday dress to receive us, after the filthy swamps and marshes of Uzaramo, and the deserts of the Rufiji valley. We passed
through rich fields of ripened or ripening grain, with natives busily preparing the virgin soil for a second crop. As we passed and repassed the small stream which waters the surrounding plain, we
drank deep and repeatedly. Passing through a perfect tunnel in a tropical forest with its grateful shade, we stepped into an open space winding in a labyrinthine manner among the trees, and dotted
with houses which formed the delightful village of Behobeho.

Johnston’s eagerly anticipated haven was thus reached, and hope and pleasure beamed on his face as we laid him down under the cool shade of a native hut.

Behobeho well merits description, not only from the beauty of its surroundings, but also from the sorrowful event which marked our stay there.

Let the reader figure to himself a forest of the densest nature, formed of colossal trees, with deep green shady foliage, among which that prince of African trees the mparamusi or yellow-wood,
with its silvery-grey trunk, rises prominently in stately grace. There are feathery acacias and mimosas, branching hyphene palms, and fan palms with their abnormally bulged trunks. A score of other
species attract our attention, but their names were to me unknown. Fill up the intervening spaces between the trees with ivy-green shrubbery, until not a clear bit of ground is seen, and passage
through the forest is rendered impossible. From tree to tree hang creepers of every description; slender leafy kinds, swaying gracefully in the breeze; giant forms thick as a man’s thigh,
gnarled and twisted, binding the tree-trunks as with bands of iron. The whole forms an impenetrable mass of vegetation, through which it is impossible even to see. Here and there, where a break
occurs, the creepers may be perceived hanging snake-like from an overhanging branch, as if ready to strangle the unwary traveller, or forming light festooned bridges from tree to tree for
gambolling monkeys to cross. The hoarse cry of the hornbill, or the bark of baboons, are the only sounds which are heard from the forest, though, when darkness sets in, crickets with their fairy
chirp, and the weird warning voice of the owl, or the croak of the frogs, help to break the stillness.