Chapter XI: A First Ascent

Faithful to their promise, Mandara’s five soldiers, led by Kilaki, arrived in our settlement at sunrise. They brought with them bags of provisions, and three fat sheep, which were to constitute a further supply of food, and one which would obligingly transport itself to the desired goal.

Leaving Faraǰi, the cook, alone in charge of Kitimbiriu, we commenced our ascent by following the upper road skirting the crest of our long hill. We walked first between tall hedges of glossy-leaved dracænas and gorgeous scarlet-flowered aloes, which grew from tall stems in arborescent form. As we passed the wooden doorways of the different congeries of huts which border these Čaga lanes the inhabitants rushed out mirthfully to greet us. “Utoṅga ako, Maṅge Muzungu?” (Where are you going, white chief?) they cried. “Ngatoṅga Kibô” (I am going to Kibô) I joyfully answered. (Kibô is the giant summit of the mass.) From each little tidy compound of Wa-čaga, from their trim fields and luxuriant plantations, came merry girls, their arms linked together affectionately, and accompanied by their brothers, fathers, and husbands, all in perfect nudity and all in smiling good-humour. They would range themselves along the sides of the narrow lane, backing, with much giggling, into the fern-fronds and brambles as I approached, and saluting my followers with many outspoken remarks as to their personal appearance and the errand on which they were bound. In the rear of the small company came the six soldiers of Mandara, wearing conspicuously the white cloths I had given them, and loaded with their shields, arms, and water-gourds. They urged along the upward path the three docile and unsuspecting sheep, which were to serve as their stock of provisions during our residence above the clouds. At about 5400 feet we quitted the last signs of cultivation, and consequently missed the familiar runnels of water which in the inhabited country intersect the land every few yards. The surrounding scenery was now charmingly soft and pretty, so exactly like Devonshire hills and coombes in general aspect that I need not give it a more detailed description. At 6000 feet we halted for a brief rest. The ascent had been very gradual. Here, where we first rested, there were grassy downs of short springy turf scattered over with magnificent clumps of forest; but higher up the woodland scenery, though very pretty and “English” in look, did not offer remarkably fine timber, the trees being short and twisted with dense undergrowth. The wild flowers were beautiful. Parasitic begonias trailed their lovely pink bells in long festoons; magenta-coloured balsams gleamed from among the fern-fronds, and every now and then we would come across clumps of crimson and salmon-tinted gladioli that provoked expressions of admiration even from my followers, whose eyes were caught with the rich displays of colour. The tree-trunks, even to the minor branches, were densely hung with moss, orchilla-lichen, or delicate epiphytic ferns. Other species of ferns grew luxuriantly at the side of the path, some of them actually British in their extended range. There were polypodies, holly ferns, bracken, maidenhair, identical apparently—I have since found at Kew they were actually the same—with those we know in England. Unfamiliar, though, to our English scenes were the magnificent tree-ferns (of the species _Lonchitis pubescens_), which rose grandly above the dense undergrowth, with fronds of a shiny bluish-green, whenever the pale green light of the forest fell athwart their downy leaflets or silky stems. At a greater altitude than 8000 feet these tree-ferns were rarely met with; indeed, they were mostly confined to a zone round the mountain between 7000 feet and 8000 feet above sea-level.

Fig. 51.—Tree Fern (_Lonchitis pubescens_).
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Our path was very wet with the moisture that dripped from the forest, and often obstructed with huge tree-trunks that lay across it. It was one of a series of tracks which converge from the different little kingdoms on the mountain up to a height of about 9000 feet odd, where they join a path running nearly due east and west from Šira to Useri. As the inhabitants of the Kilima-njaro States are nearly always at war with one another, and, consequently, have not free transit through the hostile territory of their neighbours, they all resort, by means of the upward road, to the neutral ground above, and at varying heights above the inhabited district pursue their journey round the mountain. They do not always do so peacefully, however, as it is the disagreeable custom of the mountaineers to post themselves occasionally in ambush at the cross-roads and leap out on any passing travellers too weak to resist them, in which case the men are killed and the women are carried off in triumph as slaves. As we were few in number, though presumably stout of heart, our guides were very nervous during this ascent, and often paused to listen anxiously to the murmurs of the forest, fearing to detect the voices of their foes. Our conversation was held in a low tone, and my servant, Virapan, who incautiously gave way to a peal of laughter when amused by some incident on the route, was angrily checked by Kilaki, Mandara’s captain, and told that he was risking the lives of the party. However, throughout this day’s journey we heard nothing more alarming than the occasional trumpeting of elephants or the mocking cry of the blue-green touraco.

KILIMA-NJARO, SHOWING BOTH ITS SNOW-CAPPED PEAKS.

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Owing to the absence of any drinking-water on our road ever since the last streamlet we had crossed in Moši, we scarcely stopped anywhere to rest until reaching our camping-place, at a height of 8600 feet. Here we found a little rivulet flowing silently over mossy rocks, and forming clear, deep pools every few yards. The water was icy cold. Above the stream the path led us to a slight clearing in the forest, where we saw a few rotting huts and wind shelters. “These,” said Mandara’s men, “we made when we came to fight against Useri. We slept here, halfway.” My men were enjoined by the Wa-čaga not to make any noise that might attract the attention of enemies in the vicinity; they even objected to our lighting big fires, in case the curling smoke might betray our presence; but at this I became impatient, preferring to risk the chance of a scuffle with the Wa-kibôšo to suffering from cold. Already, as the sun was setting, the temperature rapidly sank, and the air became very chilly, while a white rime settled on the grass. The forest and the surrounding vegetation were weirdly strange. Giant heaths of the familiar genus _Erica_ grew unfamiliarly as tallish trees. An extraordinary composite plant (since named from my specimens _Senecio Johnstoni_) flourished in the marshy ground near the rivulet and rose to twenty feet in height. From a distance it appeared something like a banana, with huge broad leaves at the summit of a slim, bare, black trunk, but with yellow flowers like a groundsel—a humble plant, to which indeed, it is not distantly allied. “Everlasting flowers,” of tender rosy pink or yellow-white, grew in clusters where the forest was less dense, and pretty star-like anemones, blush-colour with yellow centres, sprang up like pale stars amid the dusky herbage. Things that resembled chervil and hemlock grew in rank abundance, and the crimson gladioli gleamed out vividly on all sides. There were also pretty irises and ground orchids of a rich mauve-pink. Altogether, although the flora was different from that at lower levels, it lost nothing in brilliancy of colours. The men rapidly constructed wind shelters of branches, lit roaring fires, and wrapped themselves in their scanty garments to resist the increasing cold. The Čaga soldiers killed two of their sheep recklessly, thinking nothing of economizing their food, and distributed some of the meat among my men, offering me a really choice leg of mutton. All through the night the tree-hyraxes kept us awake with their ringing plaintive cry. After a long discussion the next morning, I decided to move our permanent camp higher up the mountain, so that I might be nearer the field of my researches, and also for the reason that the men of Mandara continually dreaded an attack from their enemies, and would not allow us to fire our guns at any bird or beast, fearing lest the shots might reveal our existence. On reaching a height of 9000 feet the continuous forest came to an end, and we emerged on tracts of tussocky grass, interspersed here and there in parklike fashion with clumps of trees. We were now on a kind of level table or shelf, which stretched away round the southern slope of the mountain, and from which the great central mass (the ridge culminating in the two peaks of Kibô and Kimawenzi) arose with a somewhat abrupt ascent. In the hollows of this further range there were clumps of forest up to 10,000 feet. Many bright-coloured flowers grew up to this altitude, notably a vivid blue cynoglossum (houndstongue), mauve and blue irises, and pink, waxy-white, and yellow “everlastings.” Tufts of artemisia (southernwood) grew in sheltered places. There were many heaths, a small kind of geranium, huge proteas, and divers ferns and mosses. The foliage of the trees was rather a dull grey-green, and their boughs and trunks were rendered almost shapeless by the thick tapestry of moss and orchilla-lichen. A black and white raven was frequently seen sailing overhead, two or three white butterflies flitted about, and a small grey moth hovered over the grass. A little lizard, nearly dull uniform black, with faint markings, darted to and fro in the herbage, pursuing the drowsy-looking flies that settled on the grass-blades in the sun.

Fig. 53.—A Raven soaring.
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Whilst my men were preparing lunch under the shade of a stunted tree I made a rapid excursion upwards to collect some plants, and then returned to my followers about noon. I had just got out my theodolite to take some observations of the different peaks in sight, and had finished “screwing up” the levels, when a cry from my men behind caused me to look up. In the distance, coming from the west, a large band of Wa-kibôšo—our most bitter foes—were to be seen approaching at a round trot, covering themselves with their shields and waving their spears in the air. I had just time to form my little force of sixteen men into a square, and awaited with anxious heart the onset. Fortunately, in the middle of their charge the Wa-kibôšo stopped short. There, between us and them, unheeded by me, stood my theodolite, poised on its tripod stand, with its levels, doubtless, as well adjusted as when I had previously left it. This harmless instrument had filled the Wa-kibôšo with sudden dread. It was, no doubt, considered some engine of sorcery so powerful that I needed but to place it between myself and my foes, and I could then await their onslaught with equanimity. The Wa-kibôšo, therefore, paused, their war-cry ceased, they gazed uneasily at the theodolite, and, to my intense relief, slowly withdrew to a neighbouring hillock, from the top of which they watched our proceedings. After a quarter of an hour of immobility on either side the Wa-kibôšo suddenly left their post of observation at a gentle run, and disappeared into the forest below. I had a short deliberation with my men, who insisted on at once returning to Mandara’s country, alleging that the Wa-kibôšo would return in greater numbers and cut off our communications below, thus severing us from our food supplies. I then suggested that, instead of returning direct to Moši, we should continue our exploration of the mountain and then descend through Useri on the plains below, and thus reach Taveita. This also was overruled, and, perhaps, wisely, as the people of Useri were equally hostile to Mandara with the Wa-kibôšo, and would possibly have massacred our little band of sixteen men had we tried to pass through their country. Finally, I resolved to take the advice of Mandara’s soldiers, and return to our settlement at once, without further delay. We therefore re-entered the forest, and passed our old camping-place of the night before, where we saw the print of many feet, from which we concluded that the Wa-kibôšo must have come here just after our departure, have discovered our route, and followed our tracks up the mountain. We were discussing this question and leisurely continuing the descent, when one of our guides stopped, commanded silence, and listened intently. I naturally did the same, and heard a faint ringing cry behind us. We looked at one another with serious faces and said “The Wa-kibôšo!” Evidently they had rediscovered our track, and were announcing it to their more distant comrades. An unreasoning panic seized my people. They started off in a headlong flight down the mountain, and for some time I feared the men might cast away their loads and lose my collections, but fortunately they clung to their burthens as Swahili porters do even “in extremis.” At length I felt I could no longer keep up such a rapid descent over slippery tree-trunks and glissades of mud. I had already nearly broken my leg and effectually barked my shins, so I called repeatedly on the foremost men of our party to stop, and we journeyed for a little while at a more reasonable pace. Soon, however, we had another fright. Those who were in front came to a sudden halt, cried out, and fell back in confusion. “What is it?” I asked, panting. “The Wa-kibôšo,” gasped my men, and sure enough, up the steep descent of the narrow path we could descry white head-dresses and gleaming spears approaching. This time we no longer made the least stand. The cook, Cephas, attempted to fly, slipped, and fell into a ditch; others crept into the bush and hid; and I myself, too utterly sick and exhausted to offer any resistance, sat down by the wayside and awaited my fate. There was a hush, a whisper rising into a shout, and then a sudden glad cry from my reassured followers, “Watu wa Mandara! Watu wa Mandara” (Mandara’s people). I rose to my feet and greeted the captain of the force with the usual Čaga salutation, “Mbuïa” (friend). He informed me that Mandara had feared a difficulty with the people of Kibôšo, and had sent 200 soldiers to escort us back. After this last scare nothing further happened to cause us further anxiety. Mandara’s soldiers went along their course behind us, and had a skirmish with the Wa-kibôšo to cover our retreat, and we eventually reached our settlement of Kitimbiriu thoroughly exhausted with our day’s adventures, but feeling quite happy at once more coming “home.”

Mandara sent the next day his congratulations on my safe return, and a fine goat wherewith to make merry. As I had almost given up the hope of ever seeing my caravan from the coast—they were six weeks overdue, and I imagined them annihilated by the Masai—I felt very uncertain as to my chances of withdrawing from Mandara’s country, and consequently congratulated myself on the improved relations subsisting between myself and that chief. I now devoted myself entirely to natural history studies and researches into the habits and customs of the Wa-čaga, and the peculiarities of their interesting dialect. The days slipped by most pleasantly, I ate and drank of the best, for my kitchen-garden yielded me almost every well-known kind of vegetable in abundance, and the native markets supplied such cheap and varied provisions that I scarcely had cause to regret the exhaustion of my European stores. In short, I was now resigned apparently to a long isolation on Kilima-njaro, without any present hope of reopening communication with the coast, when, one day—in fact on the 22nd of September—while I was working at my collections of plants in the late afternoon, and preparing to clear the table for dinner to be laid, two men, breathless and speechless, emerged from the steep ascent on the eastern flank of our hill and stood before me. I immediately recognized Abdallah and Kadu Stanley, whom I had left behind at Taveita, to report the arrival of the caravan, but their silence seemed so ominous that I could merely stare in suspended apprehension. However, they were only speechless from their steep and exhausting climb, and as soon as they had recovered their wind they ambled forward with beaming faces, kissed my hands, and said, “Oh, Bwana, nothing but good news! good news! Kiongwe has returned, and all is well.” With these words; they threw at my feet a bag of letters, and squatted down in my doorway to pant at their ease. The revulsion of feeling within me was wonderful. I now lost my calm, contented resignation of heretofore, and yearned to do great things. No longer need I cajole Mandara and elude the bloodthirsty Wa-kibôšo. With the reinforcements that were now arriving, I should have at my disposal a force of over sixty men, with which I could disregard the goodwill of the natives of Kilima-njaro, and quietly pursue my mission without fear of hindrance.

However, I was not yet free from difficulties, though the termination of my trials seemed at hand. Mandara, hitherto, especially after his recent amiable behaviour, had cherished the notion that my residence in his country would be perpetual, and would probably become very angry if he found out I was entertaining a project of withdrawing from Moši and transferring my expedition to the country of his enemies. Consequently it behoved me to act discreetly so that I might carry away all my property from Kitimbiriu without provoking any inimical action on his part. Probably he would not actively intervene to prevent my departure, or to rob me of my goods; but he had only to convey a hint to the Masai in the plains below, and my caravan would have little chance of ever reaching Taveita intact. To Taveita, as a neutral ground, I determined to go before again attempting the ascent of Kilima-njaro from another point in Čaga. Accordingly I had directed that the porters should leave their new loads there before proceeding to Moši, so that they might come nearly empty-handed, and be ready to transport my goods from Kitimbiriu.

Abdallah had carried out my secret orders very well. Kiongwe stayed behind at Taveita with the sick and halting, and watched over the new supplies which were there stowed away, while Abdallah and Kadu came on to me with thirty porters, and carried nothing but the bag of letters and some selected presents for Mandara.

The morning after the arrival of my reinforcements I went to Mandara’s court to announce ceremoniously the safe coming of my long-looked-for men, and to read to him some letters I had received from Sir John Kirk. Dressed in my best clothes, and accompanied by several followers gaily decked, and bearing presents—for I had fortunately received some gaudy uniforms and other gifts for Mandara from Zanzibar—I made my way to his little square of beehive huts, wherein he passes the hours of daylight. As I crossed the village-green the groups of soldiers there stationed preserved a sullen demeanour, evidently reflected from the present disposition of their chief. But I was not abashed, and passed blithely on into the very midst of Mandara’s circle. The chief was seated in gloomy silence, surrounded by his usual Swahili courtiers. When I saluted him cheerily he turned away his head and scowled. His parasites did the same, in a somewhat exaggerated fashion. But I was determined to force my good-humour on him. Laying a brilliant scarlet gold-braided vestment on his lap, I shook his unwilling hand, and said, “Khabari njema! (Good news!). Khabari njema, Mandara. Khabari za Baloza, sikiliza (News of the Consul, listen).” Mandara grunted and turned his head half round. Then I seated myself on one of the low stools near him and began to rather freely interpret a letter I drew from my pocket. In this supposed communication from Sir John Kirk I affected to find stringent orders to leave Mandara’s country, and return to the coast without delay. “I don’t believe a word of it,” said the Prince of Moši when I had finished, “not one word! If the Baloza wants you to return, why does he send your men back loaded with goods when, if what you say is true, you don’t need them? No, you want to quit me and go to live with some other chief on the mountain, and that is why you have left your goods behind at Taveita, and your porters come here empty-handed.” I protested, however, that his suspicions were unjust, and vowed that although now obliged to leave him, I would some day return; but for a little while Mandara was obdurate. He even muttered threats about impeding my departure, although after uttering them he looked ashamed and contradicted himself. At length when I had half forcibly thrown the scarlet coat round his shoulders and laid out the other presents in tempting array his set features relaxed into a regretful smile. “Well, child of the Baloza!” he said, with a sigh, “if you must go, you must, and I cannot prevent you. But you will promise to return, will you not? And then, see what we will do together”—and he warmed to the theme as he talked; “We will make a big shamba (plantation) and grow all the vegetables of Europe; we will trade for ivory with the Masai; we will get rich together, eh?” Four months of Mandara’s society had taught me how illusory all his offers of partnership were. However, I soothed him with assurances that sooner or later I would reappear in Moši and our relations should be renewed in a satisfactory manner. “And you won’t forget to bring me an iron bedstead and an iron chair, like yours, and a European dog, will you?” I assented to all these requests, and ultimately our meeting broke up with much mutual friendliness.

The next morning I bought some sheep and goats of Mandara, and bade him an affectionate farewell. Then, having made all due preparations, and taken a heartbreaking leave of my thriving plantations, where the beds of potatoes and trailing cucumbers looked so prosperous, I gazed for the last time at the country of Moši, where I had made my home during four months, and then turned my back on Mandara and his kingdom, and set my face once more towards Taveita.