Chapter IX: An Anxious Period

Believing myself to be secure for the present in Mandara’s friendship, I resolved without further delay to send eighteen of my thirty Zanzibaris to Sir John Kirk at Zanzibar, whither they could carry my first collections of the fauna and flora of Kilima-njaro, and my despatches laying before him the then existing state of affairs. Moreover, inasmuch as I found my paucity of men a great obstacle in pursuing my investigations and an altogether false economy, I desired Kiongwe, my head-man, who went in charge of this caravan, to recruit for me thirty or forty stout fellows in Zanzibar and bring them back with him, together with a further supply of necessary goods.

Eighteen was a small number of men to send along the Pangani route to Zanzibar, but fortunately, just as they were setting out on the journey, Thomson’s friend, Jumba Kimemeta, arrived at Mandara’s (I am sorry to say to purchase slaves[19]), and offered to escort them all the way to the town of Pangani. I gladly accepted, but as the men were ready I did not like to keep them hanging about idle in my settlement, so I sent them on by themselves to Taveita to join Kimemeta there. Most fortunate was it that I did so. Jumba Kimemeta started from Moši a day or two afterwards, with the slaves purchased from Mandara. The Masai, knowing this, lay in wait for him, attacked his caravan, routed it, and Jumba only escaped by the skin of his teeth, losing slaves, oxen, and goods. Had my men been with him, they would certainly have abandoned the collections, and then nobody in England would have believed me when I explained their loss.

Kiongwe was supposed to occupy a fortnight in journeying to the coast, the same time in returning, while his work in Zanzibar would hardly oblige him to remain there longer than a week or ten days; consequently in six weeks at the most I might expect his arrival in Moši with the reinforcement of men and goods.

Nevertheless it was with some presentiment of coming difficulties that I bade him farewell on the morning of July 11th, and watched his little band slowly wending their way out of my sight into the distant plain. Yet he must be sent some time or other, and the present moment seemed the most propitious.

After he had gone and my band of men was reduced to twelve, including all hands, trouble was not long in coming. My chief collector, Mabruki, had begun to grow very exacting. He received nearly double the wages of my invaluable Indian servant and considerably more than the other Swahili porters. His food allowance was also specially increased, and he might have had anything in reason for the asking: not that he was a good collector—far from it—but then he was better than nobody and, moreover, was a very fair shot with the rifle. He enjoyed, indeed, sallying out into the lower country near the base of the mountain and stalking antelopes, but this was not what I wanted him to do. I preferred that he should go up the mountain and collect there. He soon began to grow dissatisfied and became a continual grumbler. When Kiongwe was preparing to go to the coast he asked leave to accompany him, pleading business of his own to settle. I thought this utterly unreasonable, and knew the excuse of private business was only meant to cover some other purpose. At any rate, I reminded him of his contract and held him to it. This only increased his sulkiness, and he began to listen to the suggestions of Mandara’s Swahilis, who were trying actively to ruin me by causing the desertion of my men. They persuaded Mabruki that if he left me and entered Mandara’s service, he might become a great man. They pointed out how lucrative the slave-trading business was, and how Mandara needed a man like him to transact his business on the coast. Mabruki was won over and only sought an excuse for breaking with me. It was not long in coming. I found him one morning returning from Mandara’s town, when I had sent him to a particular valley to collect. He had not a bird or a flower to offer as an excuse. Nor did he try to excuse himself. When I began to scold him, he said quietly, “That is enough; I don’t care for this work, I have found something better to do: give me my food allowance and let me return to the coast.” Like a simpleton, I believed he intended to join Kiongwe, who had not long started, so I gave him goods to buy food for a fortnight, lent him a gun and ammunition, paid him the balance of his wages and let him go. The other collector, Athmani, who was his slave, accompanied him. Having got out of me all he could, he then turned his steps, not coastwards, but to Mandara’s court. Here the Swahilis at once led him to the chief and said “Now, you wouldn’t believe us when we told you this white man was bad; listen then to what his own servants say.” Accordingly Mabruki and Athmani sat down and told Mandara—not a string of falsehoods—but a number of inconvenient truths so coloured with malicious interpretation as to be in Mandara’s eyes the most damning of accusations. They revealed to him that I had a beautiful elephant-gun (which had certainly been kept from Mandara’s covetous gaze), and detailed, in fact, the entire contents of my armoury—so many sporting guns, so many Sniders, cases of cartridges, kegs of powder, bags of shot. They did not explain that these were brought with a view to the slaughter of birds and beasts and for purposes of just defence, but hinted that these weapons were intended to overawe the chief of Moši and take possession of his country. “Well, but,” interposed Mandara,[20] “how could he do that when I have 1000 soldiers and he only ten?” “Don’t you understand?” the traitors replied; “he has sent Kiongwe to Zanzibar to bring back many soldiers—” “Forty,” interposed Mandara. “Ah, he _says_ forty to you, but how do you know what he may not have written in the letters? No, now is the time to crush him, before his reinforcements come.” “But the Baloza, what will he say?” “How do you know whether the Baloza really sent him?” “Why, he brought letters—” “Yes, and read them himself—none of your men can read.” Mandara here produced the two epistles, and remarked that the seal of the Consulate was on them. This rather baffled Mabruki, but Athmani took another tone. “What does it matter if you _do_ take away all his goods—he has broken faith with you, he has concealed from you many of his possessions.” “Well, but if he fights for them and is killed, what will the Baloza say then, when he sends to ask for his news?” “Why, you will just answer that he has gone away to the Masai country and you know no more of him. Who can contradict you?” “And the Aruša-ruša (fireworks)?” “All harmless, children’s playthings.”

Poor Mandara was racked with indecision. On the one hand the Swahili courtiers had been poisoning his mind for days past by representing that my views as to slavery and my displays of fireworks and other potent magic had powerfully impressed the minds of the common people and had seriously impaired Mandara’s authority; on the other hand, a remnant of the friendly feeling I had once inspired still lingered in his mind. He coveted my goods with all the intensity of his savage desires—think what the possession of an elephant-gun would do to raise his prestige in the eyes of the neighbouring chiefs!—and the European bed, so smart and clean—and the silver forks and spoons—but no! I was his guest, I was the sacred “mgeni,” the stranger-friend from whom nothing must be taken by force, or God would be enraged. Still, why did I keep so many guns and so much ammunition? _Was_ it for peaceful ends, or was the plea of sport a hollow pretext? Was this white man black at heart after all? Did he really intend to send for soldiers to Zanzibar that he might seize the land and be master of it. Clearly it were better to get rid of him quietly while he was weak and without supporters. No wrong should be done, but the white man _must_ go.

Accordingly, his deliberations not having been sweetened by the frequent cups of tembo thrust on him by his insidious courtiers, he dictated a preremptory message to me, which one of his soldiers was sent to deliver.

I was sitting, working tranquilly, in my little house that afternoon, when the messenger of evil arrived. I had been going through some of Mabruki’s recent work, and derived a melancholy satisfaction in finding it so bad as to be useless. I reflected pleasantly that, though I should have henceforth the sole charge of collecting, at least I should save some forty rupees a month, and do the work better myself. Just then I looked up, and saw Mandara’s man. “What does he want, Abdallah?” I asked my servitor who ushered him in. “Oh, very bad news,” he replied in a low tone, and then proceeded to interpret the message, for my men had made greater progress in Ki-čaga than I at that time.

“Mandara sends to the white man, who calls himself Child of the Baloza, and says, ‘Now I know your heart is black, and you have deceived me. You have shown me only a part of your possessions, and you kept concealed from me many guns, and powder, and engines of war (_mi-tambo_). This you did that you might take my country by surprise and kill me, and make yourself chief in my stead. And they tell me you have sent to Unguǰa (Zanzibar), not for forty men, but for an army. Now, therefore, I say to you, you are a guest and I may not take anything from you by force; but give me all your guns, and the big one for elephants, all your powder, and all your bullets, and I will buy them at a fair price. Then I shall know, if this is done, that you do not wish to fight me, and you may remain. But if not, then I say, pack up all your goods and go, for I know you are my enemy.’” This curious message was written down by Abdallah in Swahili, in order that I might confront Mandara with his own words, and ask if he acknowledged them. In the meantime I dismissed the soldier, saying I would reply later on. Then, side by side with the message of Mandara’s, I wrote an answer to the effect that the “Sultan” of Moši was deceived by bad and designing men, that time would right me in his opinion, and that meanwhile I would neither sell him a gun nor an ounce of powder, nor would I leave his country until Kiongwe should return. (How, indeed, could I do so, when I had ten porters and fifty-eight loads?) In the evening, Virapan, Cephas, and Abdallah repaired to Mandara’s court to communicate this reply. As usual he had begun to vacillate, and now let himself be convinced that I had no sinister intentions affecting his rule, but complained that the real fault he found with me was my mean disposition. He took Cephas to his stronghold, and showed him the clothes, guns, pistols, and patent medicines he had received from Thomson; even curious relics—the gifts that Baron Von der Decken had made to Mandara’s mother, and the articles which had been wrung from poor Charles New. “Now,” he said, “what has your white man given me to compare with these? Fine words, good advice (_šauri_), tales about hens laying golden eggs. I don’t want always talk and nothing else; I want him to show his friendship by gifts, as a white man should. And as he is so fond of fables (_hadii_), remind him of the one I told him when he first came here—say to him, ‘the tree is now well-rooted and mature, and if it does not soon begin to bear fruit, I shall cut it down.’” There was some amount of truth in Mandara’s complaints. From his point of view I had not been generous. I had paid scrupulously for everything, I had always sent Mandara the equivalent of his presents of cattle or sheep in various trade goods, or bright, shining, silver rupees. I had supplied him with many useful European seeds, and had frittered away nearly all my stock of medicines on his soldiers and wives, and on arriving I had given him the articles mentioned in Chapter V.; but I _could_ not lavish cloth and beads on him continually, as I had only enough to last me till Kiongwe’s return, and must pay for my daily food in these commodities; and I _would_ not supply him with guns and powder, now that I knew the use to which he put them, viz. to procure the Arabs slaves. However, although he had no claim on my generosity, I thought it well spent if a little money would secure his friendship, so I offered to pay 1_l._ a month (an immense sum in this part of the world, especially when it is represented by twelve rupees) in the form of rent, for the land which he had given me as a plantation. At first he was beside himself with joy when I conveyed this proposal to him in person, and patted my back with affection; but no sooner had I left him, rejoiced at his change of manner, than Mabruki entered on the scene, sneered at the chief’s delight, and said the white man had bags upon bags of rupees—he had seen them—and that it was as easy for him to pay 100 monthly as 12.

Mandara therefore sent word to me that he had consulted with his advisers, and that he thought 100 rupees a month a reasonable rent for the plantation (this plantation, be it noted, was a piece of wild, uncultivated land given to me by Mandara on my arrival). To this preposterous demand I returned the curt reply that he was talking nonsense (_upumbafu_), and the matter dropped for a time. However, shortly afterwards when I was out botanizing, a soldier of Mandara’s came up and told me civilly but firmly, that I was not to pick any flowers. I asked him what he meant, and he said those were the “Maṅge’s” orders (Maṅge is the title given to Mandara), that I was to be followed wherever I went, and prevented from collecting plants. I packed up the specimens I had gathered and returned home, meaning to ask Mandara what this meant. On my way I shot a little bird. The soldier at once ran forward, picked it up, and took it, saying, “This is the Maṅge’s.” I went to Mandara’s town, and desired to know what this hindrance meant. He declined to see me, saying his heart was bitter that day, but sent word to this effect—“All this land is mine, therefore all the flowers, birds, butterflies, everything on it are mine also. If you can’t afford the rent I ask, never mind, I have nothing more to say; but don’t rob me of my property. If you want flowers, birds, or beasts, my slaves shall collect them and sell them to you at a fair price; but if you go and take any more without my leave, I will seize your goods.” Here was a nice dilemma! I could not collect on Mandara’s territory without paying an enormous tax, and I could not collect outside it without risking death at the hands of his enemies. This was a difficulty in obtaining specimens which would hardly have occurred to the consideration of the scientific societies who sent me out to Kilima-njaro. Having provided the funds, there seemed nothing simpler than to despatch some one to the mountain to collect, and here I was, settled on Kilima-njaro, and yet unable to touch a plant or an insect of those interesting regions around me—at least unable in theory, and much thwarted in the practice, although I still went stealthily to collect.

One day soon after this fresh aggravation, Mandara (in whose utmost naughtiness there was always a spice of fun) sent me a dirty old basket full of vegetable refuse, with a message to the effect that I might add this to my collections on the payment of a few ells of cloth. I kicked the basket from one end of the settlement to the other, and said, “that was the only answer,” at which rash act my men were appalled, but when Mandara heard of it, he gave a hearty laugh. However, matters did not improve. Failing to extort anything from me by force, Mandara tried starvation and ordered all his people to abstain from selling me any article of food. One or two men who were detected smuggling food into my settlement at night were sold as slaves. Another man who was heard to call me “Mangé Muzungu,” “White Chief,” was severely beaten as conferring on me a title equal to Mandara’s. Nevertheless, I offered no sign of yielding, for I knew that would be fatal—it would mean that little by little everything would be taken from me, and I should be left to return as New did, under similar circumstances, broken-hearted with the thought of failure. Accordingly, though my milkman politely intimated he would be unable to continue sending his daily supply, and though children left off coming to me with blackberries, and the women ceased to bring me ripe bananas, I cheerfully dispensed with butter, cream, fruit puddings, and banana fritters, and when Mandara, curious as to my state of mind, set spies to sound me, I expressed myself perfectly happy and self-contained. Indeed, thanks to a little foresight, I had so developed my plantations and my live-stock that I produced enough to sustain us on the premises. But at heart I was miserable. The feeling of utter impotence and of letting day by day slip by without anything accomplished towards the fulfilment of my mission, nearly made me ill, and if the climate had not been such a peculiarly fine one, I should have worried myself into a fever. What I felt most cruelly was the complete want of a sympathizer, of any one to whom I might unbend. All through my difficulties I had to assume a nonchalant air and light-hearted manner I was far from feeling, in order that my men should not be unduly alarmed at Mandara’s threats. In the last days of July, matters began to come to a crisis. Mandara had sent to me to say he was about to make war again on Kibôšo, and desired me to furnish him with ten men, well armed, and several kegs of powder. I answered that my men had other work to do, that Mandara’s quarrels were his own business, and, that I had no powder to give or sell. No immediate notice was taken of this refusal, but a day or two afterwards it was brought to my tyrant’s knowledge, first, that I was secretly purchasing stores of food, and secondly, that I had been seen catching butterflies and gathering plants in contravention of his orders. Accordingly he resolved on a decided stroke to crush my resistance and frighten me into compliance with his requests.

One morning, the 30th of July, I was sitting at work in my house, when a naked gentleman, with a broad-bladed shining spear and a monkey-skin head-dress, strutted into our settlement with an easy nonchalance of manner which made an evident impression on the Zanzibaris, for they did not attempt to oppose his passage into my private compound, but allowed him to enter unchallenged, and plant his spear into the ground with an emphasis that made it quiver, and stand at ease in a conqueror’s _pose_.

Fig. 44.—A Soldier of Mandara’s.
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My temper had been already ruffled that morning. We had lost our favourite milch goat in the night, carried off by hyenas; and I had suddenly learned that the natives refused to sell milk, fowls, or other provisions, in obedience to secret orders from their chief. Also—for misfortunes never come singly—my servant had fallen sick, and my cook had cut off his finger chopping wood. So when I looked up from my work, skinning birds, that lent themselves badly to my taxidermist skill, and saw the swarthy figure planted in front of my house, I wrathfully cried out to my attendants, “What does this man want here, and why do you let him in without telling me?” Abdallah came forward, and mildly questioned the Čaga warrior as to his purpose. “Words from Mandara,” he laconically replied, and then, the interpreter being summoned, proceeded to detail the ultimatum of the chief—so many guns, barrels of powder, bags of shot, tables, chairs, cups and saucers, knives, forks, and spoons to be handed over at once, together with the greater part of my trade goods, _or_—and then followed Mandara’s terrible threats of slaughter and rapine. The purport of this speech I somewhat understood from the occasional words and phrases of Ki-čaga that were familiar to me, and any doubt as to the import of the threats which closed the message was set aside by the man’s expressive gesture. When he came to talk of killing, he drew the edge of his dexter finger across his throat, severing in fancy his jugular vein. At the close of his speech the Zanzibari interpreter repeated all that had been said, striving to exaggerate as much as possible the gruesome nature of the threats and the advisability of conceding everything asked for. But I had long since decided that to yield to the “Sultan’s” demands would entail the loss of all means of defence, of livelihood, and would be the ruin of the expedition. Even if I succeeded in reaching the coast, it would mean that I had failed in my attempt, and all this would be far worse than the risk of assassination at Mandara’s hands, for I knew his moods varied with his potations. So, affecting a calm manner which I did not feel, I refused Mandara’s demands _in toto_. “Hatta sindano” (“Not even a needle”), I added, taking one from my coat lappet and showing it. This reply having been explained to the envoy, he withdrew stolidly to repeat it to his master, and I was left alone with my men to discuss the further proceedings to be taken. Of course only the leading men of the caravan were consulted; the rank and file were supposed to be left in ignorance of our danger, lest panic should seize them. They knew well enough, however, having questioned the Čaga soldier, and now sat in a melancholy group discussing the probability of having their throats cut, and rueing openly the day that their ill fortune brought them to such a country. However, I had finished my confabulations, and therefore ordered the men to be about their work as if nothing had happened, or was going to happen. One man was told to go and get firewood. He took an axe, and reluctantly left the timorous group of gossipers, but behold! he had scarcely got a hundred yards from the cleared ground of the settlement, when we saw him turning about and hastily retracing his steps, while from the brushwood and fern rose the glinting spears and white head-dresses of Mandara’s soldiers. It was then, on going to investigate, that I found we were regularly invested by an irregular ring of armed warriors, who were squatted in the grass and fern, without, however, any attempt at concealment. They had formed a cordon which they intimated must not be broken until the demands of the “Mangé” were satisfied. Though firm in their language they were not uncivil, and were evidently only performing their duty. They were even respectful to me personally, evidently assuming that a quarrel between the white man and their chief was not their affair. We learned from them that Mandara meant to try and starve us into submission, that he intended to place these soldiers here to cut us off from all further food supplies. I laughed at this. “What!” I asked, “does Mandara know I have eighty fowls, a cow, a calf, four goats, and two sheep, beside a storehouse crammed with grain and a garden full of vegetables? Say, how long can we not live on those supplies, and does your chief intend to keep you here for months?” They only shrugged their shoulders indifferently. “Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do or die.” One man, however, suggested that perhaps if my water supply were cut off at the river-head I might not feel so comfortable. I then asked what the other Čaga people would say, whom my little canal also supplied with water? Meanwhile my message, with its decided refusal, had reached Mandara, and we could from our height conjecture somewhat the effect produced. How anxiously our gaze wandered over the intervening valley, and rested on the little cluster of yellow beehive huts which masks Mandara’s capital! We had seen the messenger enter the town, and after more than a quarter of an hour’s interval he emerged alone, and once more took the winding hill-path to our settlement. I was affecting to continue my work in my hut, for it would not do to let either my own men or the natives perceive that I was alarmed at the critical state of affairs, but as I stooped over my bird-skins again I heard the clang of a spear-shaft striking the hard ground, and again Mandara’s emissary stood before me.

“The Mangé wants to see two of your men,” he said.

“I will go myself,” I replied, getting my hat and stick.

“No,” answered the envoy, “Mandara does not want to see the white man. His heart is bitter. Send two of your servants.”

After considerable parleying, for my men naturally felt that it was like entering the lion’s den, Abdallah and another Zanzibari volunteered to go on this dangerous errand. Accordingly they set out, secretly armed with revolvers, and accompanied the soldier to Mandara’s town. Following their progress with my opera-glass, I saw them enter the native compound, and then ensued an anxious wait before they re-issued and made their way alone back to Kitimbiriu. When they entered the settlement I saw bad news painted on their lineaments, so I hurried them into my house before they could communicate it to my quaking men. When they were seated in the doorway of my dwelling, their dark bodies like silhouettes against the flaming evening sky, they unfolded their ominous tale.

When they had reached Mandara’s place, it seemed, they found him seated among his councillors and captains in a quivering rage. His one eye gleamed with anger, and his whole frame trembled with convulsive wrath. Speaking slowly and distinctly, evidently trying to keep control over himself, he told them that there was but one ruler in the country, and that one he. It sufficed for him to send an order to the white man and it must be instantly obeyed, or the throat of every man in the settlement should be cut. “What,” he exclaimed, “do I care for his Consul or his Queeny? Have I not a thousand soldiers? Go and tell him!” The men crept away from the precincts of the irate monarch thoroughly cowed, but they were not gone far before he sent to recall them. On again entering his presence, Mandara assailed them with imprecations and horrible threats, and dismissed them a second time, summoned them back again, hurled at them hoarsely more vituperation, and finally bade them hurry to my presence and inform me what they had heard.

This they were in no way loth to do, fearing, indeed, for their lives in this assemblage of warriors armed to the teeth, whom a word from their chief would precipitate on any victim of his wrath. I suspected, even when I heard their terrified account, that this scene was a good bit of clever acting on Mandara’s part, meant to have its due effect on me by the panic it should produce among my men.

At any rate, as we sat in the gloom of the early night still discussing our situation, my dinner untouched on the table, and, to judge from the gleam of their watch-fires in the bush, the soldiers of Mandara still encircling us, the prospect seemed a sufficiently sombre one. Nor did the night bring a temporary truce to my anxieties. I found it difficult to compose myself to sleep, for my brain was continually forming projects for escaping secretly from Mandara’s country, and yet carrying away somehow my fifty-eight loads of goods; a well-nigh impossible feat to accomplish with ten men. Every sudden noise from the bush, the anxious whispers from my watching men, the distant blowing of a horn, or firing of a gun made me start from bed wide-awake and expecting a midnight attack from the savages. And when towards dawn I found a short forgetfulness in fitful dozing, it was but to awake on a morrow of similar anxiety.

However, the tension was fortunately relieved by an unexpected and unintentional ally. The Wa-kibôso, whom Mandara had been recently raiding, had routed his armies with considerable slaughter—he confessed to the loss of 100 men, about ten per cent. of his entire force—and had further sent a bombastic message to the effect that they were about to arrive in Moši, with the intention of burning, harrying, robbing, slaying everything in their way. Mandara therefore desired in such contingency the moral support of the white man’s friendship and co-operation. All the soldiers were naturally withdrawn from the blockade of my settlement, I was once more at liberty to go forth and botanize, and no restrictions were placed in the way of my purchasing food. However, I was too angry with Mandara for what he had made me suffer to respond very cordially to his advances. I refused to co-operate in the defence of Moši, and said I would keep all my powder and ammunition for the safeguarding of my own settlement. Of course the Wa-kibôšo stopped short at the frontier on this occasion. I premised they would from the fact that they had sent to say they were coming. But, nevertheless, they had evidently inflicted a severe blow on Mandara’s strength, and one which for a long time kept him quiet. Gradually my relations with him began to improve. His people were so decidedly my friends, that he was forced, despotic monarch though he was, to come over to their opinion. They declared my coming had brought wealth to them all. I bought all their products and paid for them honestly. No man could ever accuse me of an unjust or unfriendly act. When they were sick, they came for medicine, and were never denied.[21] In short Mandara was compelled by popular opinion to own he had treated me badly, and as a sign of this, he resumed friendly relations by paying me a state visit in my “town.” Here he gossiped to his heart’s content, and peered like an inquisitive child into all the recesses of my house. It was the first time he had visited me since I had begun building, and he was amazed at the progress made. Then he asked to see all my “wonderful things,” and on the whole behaved very well, asking for nothing. At length, after uneasily fidgeting on his chair, he said hurriedly, “And now bring out your elephant-gun; I _must_ see it.” All my men looked scared; now I was going to be fleeced. “_Must_ you see it, Mandara?” I asked, gravely looking in his face. “No,” said the poor savage, with a sudden effort to control his covetousness, “I will _not_ see it. Do not show it to me, lest I should desire it.”

Really, why I made such a fuss about this elephant-gun seems hard to understand, for it turned out a useless and burdensome weapon, unreliable for greater distances than twenty yards, but in those days it seemed to us to sum up all the question of our resistance to Mandara’s encroachments. We felt if we yielded the elephant-gun we should never be able to make a stand on anything else, and then everything would go, and we might be stripped as New was. However, on the occasion of this visit, I did my best to be gracious, and opened a bottle of champagne—with some trepidation, imagining Mandara would insist on the rest of the dozen—and a tin of cocoanut biscuits. However, the champagne created but a poor impression—I think it was too dry for his palate—while on the other hand, he simply tucked the tin of biscuits under his arm and walked off with it, enraptured with the first one he had scrunched. After this day, although we sometimes disputed about commercial transactions (which were always unprofitable to me, and only a disguised form of tribute to Mandara), we never had another quarrel, and I had complete liberty of action in Moši. Alas! this was after all but an extended durance—a prison, though a spacious and lovely one. In vain I yearned for some means of crossing the barrier of foes which intervened between me and my goal, the snow-peaks of Kilima-njaro!