Chapter XI

HOW STANLEY OBTAINED CANOES.--THE PEOPLE OF UKUSU.--THEIR HOSTILITY.--A FIGHT AND TERMS OF PEACE.--SEPARATION FROM TIPPU-TIB.--DEPARTURE "TOWARDS THE UNKNOWN."--A SAD FAREWELL.--AMONG THE VINYA-NARA.--THE NATIVES AT STANLEY FALLS.--A FIERCE BATTLE.--DEFENDING A STOCKADE.--BOATS CAPSIZED IN A TEMPEST AND MEN DROWNED.--BEGINNING OF THE NEW YEAR.--A BATTLE ON THE WATER.--MONSTER CANOES.--AMONG THE MWANA NTABA.--THE NATIVES ARE DEFEATED.--FIRST CATARACT OF STANLEY FALLS.--CAMPED IN A FORTIFICATION.

"Mr. Stanley's hope of obtaining canoes was soon realized," said Fred, when the party assembled in the evening, "but he suffered greatly before he secured them. Small-pox and other diseases carried off many of his people; the natives at first refused all offers of peace, and would sell no provisions. At the rapids of Ukassa, near the mouth of the Ruiki River, a fleet of canoes came to attack him, but the savages retreated when they found the strangers were ready to fight.

"He found some old and abandoned canoes which his men repaired; and with these canoes and the _Lady Alice_ he transported a part of his force, while the remainder went by land. The banks of the river were densely peopled, and the houses in the villages showed a considerable advance towards civilization. Many of the villages were built in regular streets, and some of these streets were fully two miles long. From a native, who was made prisoner, Mr. Stanley learned that he was in the district called Ukusu, and that the people would not permit strangers to pass along the river. The river was about seventeen hundred yards wide, and thickly studded in many places with islands densely covered with trees and undergrowth.

"The houses were of various patterns, but all of a single story in height. Most of them were mere double cages, made very elegantly of the panicum grass cane, seven feet long by five feet wide and six feet high, separated, as regards the main building, but connected by the roof, so that the central apartments were common to both cages, and in these the families meet and perform their household duties, or receive their friends for social chat. Near each village was the burial-place or vault of its preceding kings, roofed over, with the leaves of the _Phrynium ramosissimum_, which appears to be as useful a plant for many reasons as the banana to the Waganda.

"At one of the villages a large number of natives attacked the expedition, which had taken position and built a stockade close to the river's bank. Thousands of poisoned arrows came whizzing into the stockade, and hundreds of spears were thrown, but the rifles of the expedition held the savages at bay. When the day ended, the negroes retired to the opposite side of the river, where they tied their canoes to the bank. During the night Mr. Stanley and Frank Pocock crossed the river with the _Lady Alice_ and their large canoe; one by one the canoes of the natives were silently secured and taken away to the number of thirty-eight, and when the natives woke in the morning, they were probably never more astonished in their lives.

"A peace was negotiated, and terms of blood-brotherhood were made. Mr. Stanley returned fifteen of the canoes, and retained twenty-three as an equivalent for the losses he had sustained in the attack. He had a sufficient number of boats now for his purpose.

"Tippu-Tib announced that he would go no farther. Mr. Stanley released him from his engagement, on condition that he would use his influence with the members of the expedition to remain with it. A satisfactory settlement was made with Tippu-Tib and his people; farewell feasts were given, and everything seemed favorable for the future. Provisions for twenty days were prepared, the men were assigned to the boats, and, to make the fleet as much like a civilized one as possible, each boat received a name. Here is the list:

1. The exploring boat, Lady Alice. 13. London Town.
2. Ocean, commanded by Frank. 14. America.
3. Livingstone. 15. Hart.
4. Stanley. 16. Daphne.
5. Telegraph. 17. Lynx.
6. Herald. 18. Nymph.
7. Jason. 19. Vulture.
8. Argo. 20. Shark.
9. Penguin. 21. Arab.
10. Wolverine. 22. Mirambo.
11. Fawn. 23. Mtesa.
12. Glasgow (flag-ship, commanded by Manwa Sera).

"And now," said Fred, "we will hear Mr. Stanley's story of how they set out on their adventurous voyage:

"The crisis drew nigh when the 28th of December dawned. A gray mist
hung over the river, so dense that we could not see even the palmy
banks on which Vinya-Njara was situated. It would have been
suicidal to begin our journey on such a gloomy morning. The people
appeared as cheerless and dismal as the foggy day. We cooked our
breakfasts in order to see if, by the time we had fortified the
soul by satisfying the cravings of the stomach, the river and its
shores might not have resumed their usual beautiful outlines, and
their striking contrasts of light and shadow.

"Slowly the breeze wafted the dull and heavy mists away until the
sun appeared, and bit by bit the luxuriantly wooded banks rose up
solemn and sad. Finally the gray river was seen, and at 9 A.M. its
face gleamed with the brightness of a mirror.

"'Embark, my friends! Let us at once away! and a happy voyage to
us.'

"The drum and trumpet proclaimed to Tippu-Tib's expectant ears that
we were ascending the river. In half an hour we were pulling across
to the left bank, and when we reached it, a mile above Vinya-Njara,
we rested on our oars. The strong brown current soon bore us down
within hearing of a deep and melodious diapason of musical voices
chanting the farewell song. How beautiful it sounded to us as we
approached them! The dense jungle and forest seemed to be
penetrated with the vocal notes, and the river to bear them
tenderly towards us. Louder the sad notes swelled on our ears, full
of a pathetic and mournful meaning. With bated breath we listened
to the rich music which spoke to us unmistakably of parting, of
sundered friendship, a long, perhaps an eternal, farewell. We came
in view of them, as, ranged along the bank in picturesque costume,
the sons of Unyamwezi sang their last song. We waved our hands to
them. Our hearts were so full of grief that we could not speak.
Steadily the brown flood bore us by, and fainter and fainter came
the notes down the water, till finally they died away, leaving us
all alone on the great river.

"But, looking up, I saw the gleaming portal to the Unknown: wide
open to us and away down, for miles and miles, the river lay
stretched with all the fascination of its mystery. I stood up and
looked at the people. How few they appeared to dare the region of
fable and darkness! They were nearly all sobbing. They were leaning
forward, bowed, as it seemed, with grief and heavy hearts.

"'Sons of Zanzibar,' I shouted, 'the Arabs and the Wanyemwezi are
looking at you. They are now telling one another what brave fellows
you are. Lift up your heads and be men. What is there to fear? All
the world is smiling with joy. Here we are all together like one
family, with hearts united, all strong with the purpose to reach
our homes. See this river; it is the road to Zanzibar. When saw you
a road so wide? When did you journey along a path like this? Strike
your paddles deep, cry out Bismillah! and let us forward.'

"Poor fellows! with what wan smiles they responded to my words! How
feebly they paddled! But the strong flood was itself bearing us
along, and the Vinya-Njara villages were fast receding into
distance.

"Then I urged my boat's crew, knowing that thus we should tempt the
canoes to quicker pace. Three or four times Uledi, the coxswain,
gallantly attempted to sing, in order to invite a cheery chorus,
but his voice soon died into such piteous hoarseness that the very
ludicrousness of the tones caused his young friends to smile even
in the midst of their grief.

"We knew that the Vinya-Njara district was populous from the
numbers of natives that fought with us by land and water, but we
had no conception that it was so thickly populated as the long row
of villages we now saw indicated. I counted fourteen separate
villages, each with its respective growth of elais palm and banana,
and each separated from the other by thick bush.

"Every three or four miles there were small villages visible on
either bank, but we met with no disturbance, fortunately. At 5 P.M.
we made for a small village called Kali-Karero, and camped there,
the natives having retired peacefully. In half an hour they
returned, and the ceremony of brotherhood was entered upon, which
insured a peaceful night. The inhabitants of Rukura, opposite us,
also approached us with confidence, and an interchange of small
gifts served us as a healthy augury for the future.

"On the morning of the 29th, accompanied by a couple of natives in
a small fishing-canoe, we descended the river along the left bank,
and, after about four miles, arrived at the confluence of the
Kasuku, a dark-water stream of a hundred yards' width at the mouth.
Opposite the mouth, at the southern end of Kaimba--a long wooded
island on the right bank, and a little above the confluence--stands
the important village of Kisanga-Sanga.

"Below Kaimba Island and its neighbor, the Livingstone assumes a
breadth of eighteen hundred yards. The banks are very populous: the
villages of the left bank comprise the district of Luavala. We
thought for some time we should be permitted to pass by quietly,
but soon the great wooden drums, hollowed out of huge trees,
thundered the signal along the river that there were strangers. In
order to lessen all chances of a rupture between us, we sheered off
to the middle of the river, and quietly lay on our paddles. But
from both banks at once, in fierce concert, the natives, with their
heads gayly feathered, and armed with broad black wooden shields
and long spears, dashed out towards us.

"Tippu-Tib before our departure had hired to me two young men of
Ukusu--cannibals--as interpreters. These were now instructed to cry
out the word 'Sennenneh' ('Peace!'), and to say that we were
friends.

"But they would not reply to our greeting, and in a bold,
peremptory manner told us to return.

"'But we are doing no harm, friends. It is the river that takes us
down, and the river will not stop, or go back.'

"'This is our river.'

"'Good. Tell it to take us back, and we will go.'

"'If you do not go back, we will fight you.'

"'No, don't; we are friends.'

"'We don't want you for our friends; we will eat you.'

"But we persisted in talking to them, and, as their curiosity was
so great, they persisted in listening, and the consequence was that
the current conveyed us near to the right bank; and in such near
neighborhood to another district that our discourteous escort had
to think of themselves, and began to skurry hastily up river,
leaving us unattacked.

"The villages on the right bank also maintained a tremendous
drumming and blowing of war-horns, and their wild men hurried up
with menace towards us, urging their sharp-prowed canoes so swiftly
that they seemed to skim over the water like flying fish. Unlike
the Luavala villagers, they did not wait to be addressed, but as
soon as they came within fifty or sixty yards they shot out their
spears, crying out, 'Meat! meat! Ah! ha! We shall have plenty of
meat!'

"There was a fat-bodied wretch in a canoe, whom I allowed to crawl
within spear-throw of me; who, while he swayed the spear with a
vigor far from assuring to one who stood within reach of it, leered
with such a clever hideousness of feature that I felt, if only
within arm's-length of him, I could have bestowed upon him a
hearty thump on the back, and cried out applaudingly, 'Bravo, old
boy! You do it capitally!'

"Yet not being able to reach him, I was rapidly being fascinated by
him. The rapid movements of the swaying spear, the steady,
wide-mouthed grin, the big square teeth, the head poised on one
side with the confident pose of a practised spear-thrower, the
short brow and square face, hair short and thick. Shall I ever
forget him? It appeared to me as if the spear partook of the same
cruel, inexorable look as the grinning savage. Finally, I saw him
draw his right arm back, and his body incline backward, with still
that same grin on his face, and I felt myself begin to count, one,
two, three, four--and _whiz_! The spear flew over my back, and
hissed as it pierced the water. The spell was broken.

"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 four hundred yards in width at the mouth, and deep with
water of a light color, 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 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,
half-way upon the banks, and our camp was in the midst of an
impenetrable jungle.

"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 southeast, or
east-southeast 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.

"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 laboring in the interests of peace, brotherhood, and
good-will. 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 visor of his cap, on the well-fed,
bronze-skinned aborigines.

"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.

"At noon we came to the southern end of an uninhabited low and
sandy island, where I ascertained the latitude to be south 1° 20'
3". The altitude, above sea level, of the river at this place is
1729 feet. After descending some five miles we formed our camp in
the woods on the right bank.

"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 rejoice
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 in
vain to endeavor 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 awakened 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 one hundred 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.

"Farther down we met some friendly natives, who told us that we
should soon come to the territory of the Mwana Ntaba, with whom we
should have to fight; that the Mwana Ntaba people occupied the
country as far as the falls; that below the falls were several
islands inhabited by the Baswa, who were friends of the Mwana
Ntaba. It would be impossible, they said, to go over the falls, as
the river swept against a hill, and rolled over it, and tumbled
down, down, down, with whirl and uproar, and we should inevitably
get lost. It would be far better, they said, for us to return.

"About two o'clock, in the afternoon of January 4th, as we were
proceeding quietly, our vessels being only about thirty yards from
the right bank, eight men with shields darted into view from behind
a bush-clump, and, shouting their war-cries, launched their wooden
spears. Some of them struck and dinted the boat deeply, others flew
over it. We shoved off instantly, and getting into mid-stream found
that we had heedlessly exposed ourselves to the watchful tribe of
Mwana Ntaba, who immediately sounded their great drums, and
prepared their numerous canoes for battle.

"Up to this time we had met with no canoes over fifty feet long,
but those which now issued from the banks and the shelter of bends
in the banks were monstrous. The natives were in full war-paint,
one half of their bodies being daubed white, the other half red,
with broad black bars, the _tout ensemble_ being unique and
diabolical. There was a crocodilian aspect about these lengthy
vessels which was far from assuring, while the fighting-men,
standing up alternately with the paddlers, appeared to be animated
with a most ferocious cat-o'-mountain spirit. Horn-blasts, which
reverberated from bank to bank, sonorous drums, and a chorus of
loud yells, lent a fierce _éclat_ to the fight in which we were now
about to be engaged.

"We formed line, and having arranged all our shields as bulwarks
for the non-combatants, awaited the first onset with apparent
calmness. One of the largest canoes, which we afterwards found to
be eighty-five feet three inches in length, rashly made the mistake
of singling out the _Lady Alice_ for its victim; but we reserved
our fire until it was within fifty feet of us, and after pouring a
volley into the crew charged the canoe with the boat, and the crew,
unable to turn her round sufficiently soon to escape, precipitated
themselves into the river and swam to their friends, while we made
ourselves masters of the _Great Eastern_ of the Livingstone. We
soon exchanged two of our smaller canoes and manned the monster
with thirty men, and resumed our journey in line, the boat in front
acting as a guide. This early disaster to the Mwana Ntaba caused
them to hurry down river, blowing their horns, and alarming with
their drums both shores of the river, until about forty canoes were
seen furiously dashing down stream, no doubt bent on mischief.

"At 4 P.M. we came opposite a river about two hundred yards wide,
which I have called the Leopold River, in honor of His Majesty
Leopold II., King of the Belgians, and which the natives called
either the Kankora, Mikonju, or Munduku.

"Soon after passing by the confluence, the Livingstone, which above
had been two thousand five hundred yards wide, perceptibly
contracted, and turned sharply to the east-northeast, because of a
hill which rose on the left bank about three hundred feet above the
river. Close to the elbow of the bend on the right bank we passed
by some white granite rocks, from one to six feet above the water,
and just below these we heard the roar of the first cataract of the
Stanley Falls series.

"But louder than the noise of the falls rose the piercing yells of
the savage Mwana Ntaba from both sides of the great river. We now
found ourselves confronted by the inevitable necessity of putting
into practice the resolution which we had formed before setting out
on the wild voyage--to conquer or die. What shall we do? Shall we
turn and face the fierce cannibals, who with hideous noise drown
the solemn roar of the cataract, or shall we cry out, 'Mambu Kwa
Mungu' 'Our fate is in the hands of God'--and risk the cataract
with its terrors?

"Meanwhile we are sliding smoothly to our destruction, and a
decision must therefore be arrived at instantly. God knows, I and
my fellows would rather have it not to do, because possibly it is
only a choice of deaths, by cruel knives or drowning. If we do not
choose the knives, which are already sharpened for our throats,
death by drowning is certain. So, finding ourselves face to face
with the inevitable, we turn to the right bank upon the savages,
who are in the woods and on the water. We drop our anchors and
begin the fight, but after fifteen minutes of it find that we
cannot force them away. We then pull up anchors and ascend stream
again, until, arriving at the elbow above mentioned, we strike
across the river and divide our forces. Mwana Sera is to take four
canoes and to continue up stream a little distance, and, while we
occupy the attention of the savages in front, is to lead his men
through the woods and set upon them in rear. At 5.30 P.M. we make
the attempt, and keep them in play for a few minutes, and on
hearing a shot in the woods dash at the shore, and under a shower
of spears and arrows effect a landing. From tree to tree the fight
is continued until sunset, when, having finally driven the enemy
off, we have earned peace for the night.

"Until about 10 P.M. we are busy constructing an impenetrable
stockade or boma of brushwood, and then at length we lay our sorely
fatigued bodies down to rest, without comforts of any kind and
without fires, but (I speak for myself only) with a feeling of
gratitude to Him who has watched over us in our trouble, and a
humble prayer that His protection may be extended to us for the
terrible days that may yet be to come."