Chapter V: Arrival at Mandara’s Court

Before describing my first interview with Mandara, the chief of Moši, it may be well to say a few explanatory words about his actual position and previous career.

By Sir John Kirk’s advice I directed my steps to his kingdom and capital in the first instance, for we both imagined that I had only to conciliate this personage in order to be able to range free and undisturbed over the whole of Kilima-njaro.

It was, however, a great mistake—though one I was a long time finding out—because Mandara ruled over a very small tract of land, and only up to 6000 feet altitude, and being at constant war with his neighbours, and his little kingdom in a continual state of blockade, his protection as far as it influenced a peaceful residence on the upper slopes of the mountain was worse than useless. Had it not been that the time spent perforce in Mandara’s country was of little use for natural history purposes—for I could not forget that I had come out principally to study the alpine district near the snow-line, and not the rich but more typically African fauna and flora at lower levels—I should little regret the months I passed in Moši, for I regard Mandara as one of the most remarkable Africans I have ever met. He is a man whose portrait should be placed with certain others of his contemporaries, Rumanika, Mtesa, the Kasongo, whose lineaments stand out sharply amid the obscurity of Savage Africa, and whose names, so associated with the pioneers of African exploration, will certainly not fall into oblivion.

As far as we can trust to his own traditions as to his ancestry, it would appear that his grandfather was a younger brother of the ruling chief of Mpoko, or Mpokomo, a state lying to the west of Moši. He seems to have been a great warrior, and protected his few subjects so zealously against the raids of the Masai (who at that time menaced the very existence of the Čaga mountaineers), that he formed them in time into a prosperous and thriving community. The origin or etymology of the name Moši (pronounced in English “Moshy”) is not very clear. In the language of Taveita it means “smoke,” which, from the fact that at all times puffs of white smoke arising from the constant burning of weeds are to be observed, when the land is seen from the plains below, is a not improbable derivation; still it may be more likely drawn from some term in Ki-čaga, the language of the country. As it is sometimes pronounced Muši or Muži, I thought it might have been akin to the common Bantu word “muǰi,” a _town_ or _settlement_; but as that term becomes “muri” in Ki-čaga, I am still at a loss. However this may be, Moši is the well-known name on Kilima-njaro of the little state founded, as tradition goes, by Mandara’s grandfather. This hero is supposed to have fallen in battle with the Masai, and his second—some say his third—son inherited the power. He strengthened his position by marriage, and espoused several princesses of the reigning families in the vicinity of his kingdom. From one of these was born Mandara, or as he appears first to have been called, Makindara. The explanation of his name, like that of his state, is not so clear in meaning as are most specimens of African nomenclature. His own subjects pronounce it “Maṅdara” (Mangdara), and the other inhabitants of the mountain “Makiṅdara.” I have sometimes fancied it might be a contraction and corruption of Maṅge-ndara = Maṅdara, viz. the Chief Ndara.

Mandara’s mother seems to have been a very shrewd and clever woman, and under her long regency the state of Moši flourished. Apparently in those happy days peace prevailed among all the sections of the Čaga people inhabiting Kilima-njaro. Or at least there were no internecine wars, and the only conflicts were occasional skirmishes with the Masai, whenever those rovers tried to extend their cattle-raids to the mountain pastures. But then came the cursed slave-traders—the Swahili Arabs, or Arabized Mohammedan half-breeds—from the Zanzibar coast. Finding the united inhabitants of Čaga[11] too strong to submit to forcible slave-raiding or kidnapping, they tried to effect their purpose by introducing discord into the local politics. Selecting some particular chief—especially a young, ambitious man like Mandara, when he commenced to reign—they gave him rich presents, and filled him with flattering speeches, and persuaded him that if he took advantage of the unprepared state of some of his neighbours, and suddenly marched an army into their territory, he might not only reign as paramount chief over Čaga, but would also make a nice fortune out of the sale of slaves. Mandara was not loth to play the _rôle_ of conqueror. He had made friends with the Masai and even obtained their assistance, and he therefore proceeded, under the instigations of the Arabs, to harry, burn, kill, and enslave his peaceful neighbours and countrymen of many little Čaga states. For some time he carried all before him, and the Kilima-njaro market was a famous one for the slave-traders of Mombasa. Mandara, and other chiefs whom in turn they induced to play the same policy, supplied them with slaves at about the cost of two dollars each, and though quite fifty per cent. of them died before reaching the coast—for these poor mountaineers cannot stand the climate of the plains, and perish of fever and nostalgia—still the remainder being remarkable for their skill in agriculture, fetched a high price among the wealthy Mohammedan landowners of Zanzibar. At length a reaction took place. The outraged Wa-čaga formed a league (which is still in force) against Mandara in defence of their hearths and homes, and in spite of his valorous army and his skilful defence, the fortune of war so far turned against him, that he was compelled to fly from his country as an exile. When this reverse in his fortunes took place is not very clear, and Mandara himself is reserved on the subject; but it would seem to have been some ten years ago. The causes which led to his reinstatement are also left to conjecture; but I fancy that his enemies, content with their revenge, retired from his country, and that Mandara, with the help of his friends, the agricultural Masai of Aruša, was enabled to return to Moši. Since then his martial ardour has somewhat cooled, and although he still devotes much time and attention to the drill of his army (which consists perhaps of 1000 men, the pick of Moši’s manhood), it is more for purposes of defence. He occupies at present somewhat the position, in Kilima-njaro politics, of a Napoleon who has returned from Elba, but prudently avoids a Waterloo.

Though this remarkable savage never, in his most successful days, ruled over a larger territory than the postal area of London, yet the fame of his intelligence, his kingly manners, and his bravery extended far and wide in Central Africa, borne by the Swahili traders, who journeyed in all directions between the Victoria Nyanza and the Indian Ocean. Slave-traders and slave-kidnappers though these men are, their influence over Africa has had a certain civilizing tendency.

These strange Arab mongrels, who have become almost an independent race, merit the designation of Africa’s land-carriers, They journey for purposes of trade over nearly all the district which lies between the Victoria Nile, Abyssinia, the great lakes, the Upper Congo, and the Zambesi. After visiting such a chief as Mandara they may find themselves at the court of Mtesa, the late chief of the Uganda, and they will carry the fame of one king to another. Mandara alleges that he held communication (I suppose this consisted in the transmission of Arabic compliments) with Mtesa of Uganda, and with Mirambo of Unyamwesi, by means of such far-travelling traders as Jumba Kimemeta, in whose company Mr. Thomson crossed Masai-land. This is quite possible; at any rate through the Swahili merchants Mandara first heard of her Majesty the Queen, of Sir John Kirk (the “Baloza”), and of Sayyid Barghash of Zanzibar. The same itinerant pedlars informed this Central African savage, who has never been thirty miles from his birthplace, nor visited a civilized settlement, nor seen the ocean, or a ship, of the leading factors in Oriental politics, how the Waingrezi (English) possessed India; how the Wa-fransa (French) had tried to conquer Madagascar with their “manowari” (men-of-war); and how the Wa-dachi (Deutsche = Germans) were making treaties with the chiefs of Usagara. It is no doubt largely through Swahili merchants that the mind of Mandara has been prepared, since my departure, for the acceptance of the suzerainty of Sayyid Barghash of Zanzibar. He was shrewd enough to know that before the advent of Europeans he could not stand alone, and he greatly dreaded the coming of French or Germans. His suspicions and fears of these two leading European nations were positively ridiculous, considering that they both ignored his existence, and had never at any time evinced the slightest wish to annex Kilima-njaro. All that he knew of them was of course derived from the exaggerated accounts of the Wa-swahili, and it is a curious thing that these people of the Zanzibar coast should so detest the French and Germans. Some of the traders, I know, confuse the Belgians with the French, and imagine it is the former nation that has (happily) abstracted the Upper Congo from the slave-and-ivory-hunting operations of the Zanzibaris. But what can these people have known of Germany and the Germans hitherto to bear so marked a grudge against the children of the Fatherland? Curiously enough the European power most liked and respected by the Zanzibar traders is England, though for half a century we have tried our hardest to ruin the slave-trade, on which the prosperity of the Zangian Arabs has been so largely based. Yet every bombardment or capture of slave-daus only seems to add to our prestige, and the fame of the mighty English “manowari,” and the quiet, resolute man who directs their operations, is yearly carried farther and farther into Central Africa by the very men who have suffered most by our anti-slavery policy. It is really astonishing to find that there are villages on Kilima-njaro where the naked and savage inhabitants know of no other fact beyond their physical horizon, except that towards the rising sun there is a vast sheet of water, on which mighty iron canoes deal indiscriminate death to the enemies of a great white man, sometimes called the “Baloza,”[12] who is the sultan of the coast.

Pursuant to these ideas Mandara had sent presents and greetings to Sir John Kirk, seeking his friendship, and during my stay on the mountain, Mandara applied to me for a Union Jack to fly over his mud and wattle citadel, as a sign that he was under the protection of my country. As I feared this emblem of just rule might be made to cover a multitude of sins committed in its name, and that the slave-raids of this African prince might be justified by the British ensign which his bandits would flaunt before them, I transmitted this request to the consideration of Sir John Kirk. Various complications prevented its concession, and eventually, frightened at the rumoured coming of the Germans, Mandara accepted the suzerainty of the Sultan of Zanzibar.

Mandara has seen all the Europeans who have ever visited Kilima-njaro. Rebmann, the missionary who first told us snow-mountains existed in Africa, passed through his country, when Mandara was, according to his own account, about three years old. Von der Decken—still remembered as the “Baroni”—came thither when the chief of Moši was a youth and under the tutelage of his mother. Mandara received the missionary New on his first journey to the mountain, and enabled him to make his two partial ascents, in one of which he just reached the snow-line.

On his second visit to Kilima-njaro in 1873, Mr. New was robbed of all his valuables by Mandara, and retired broken-hearted to the coast. Mr. Joseph Thomson fell into his clutches in 1883, on his journey to Masai-land, and though he was forced to make a much more generous present than he at first intended, yet he frequently admits that Mandara afterwards treated him and his caravan with really royal hospitality. Before I arrived in his country he had made friends with Sir John Kirk, and I took with me important letters from our Consul-General at Zanzibar, officially recommending me to Mandara’s good offices, and though in after-times you will see that I had very strained relations with our variable friend, yet such was the respect he bore for the wide-stretching English power, that, though he had me utterly defenceless in his clutches, without the strength to resist or the means to run away, and in spite of eager covetousness of my valuable property, he never robbed me of a pennyworth _by force_, nor ever allowed his people to do so.

Before coming to Kilima-njaro, I had read everything that was written about Mandara, and my curiosity as to his appearance, and my anxiety as to the impression I should create in his imagination, were excited to the utmost. My vagrant habits have sometimes led to my being presented to personages that the world holds distinguished, but in no case did I ever anticipate an introduction to a temporal or spiritual magnate with more anxiety than my first interview with the Sultan of Moši. I had formed an exaggerated estimate of his power for good and evil, and fancied that the fate of my expedition lay in his sable hands. Nor was I alone in this impression, for the men of my caravan held Mandara in excessive awe and dread, and the rabble of Rabai, who were already grovelling before him, would have cut my throat cheerfully if that had been pleasing to the great chieftain, in whose power they were. To do Mandara honour—for I was told by my men that he was very sensitive as to appearances, and measured a man by his cloth—I had donned a white shirt with a collar in which some little starch remained, a smart coat, and patent leather boots, and this attire, although perhaps becoming, was uncomfortable at the close of a long, hot march, when I wished to unbend in easy costume. I therefore hoped that the ordeal might soon be over. Presently, whilst I was fidgeting about inside my tent, getting rather tired of the intense curiosity I aroused among the simple country-folk, who thronged the precincts of my camp and were not ashamed, like the soldiers, to express their awe and surprise, I heard a distant shouting, while loud cries and complaints arose nearer and nearer at hand, and then were seen the civilian subjects of Mandara fleeing in all directions, and being vigorously chased from the scene by a number of lithe young men perfectly nude, and armed with long and supple wands. These were the police of Moši, and their object was to disperse the vulgar herd from the precincts of royalty, their sovereign being then on his way to pay a visit to the white stranger. Kiongwe soon entered my tent, and said in an agitated whisper, “Mandara has come, and is waiting to greet you.” I left my tent in as composed a manner as possible, and sought Mandara with my eyes. He was not difficult to distinguish from his body-guard. With a natural instinctive feeling for effect he had grouped his soldiers in a semicircle round him, and placed himself somewhat in front, with a crescent of fierce-looking warriors behind, each man holding his shining spear-blade erect and glistening, thereby edging the dark background with a bright shimmering band of steel. The first impression Mandara produced on me was that of a grand old woman! The full, rounded, beardless face, the somewhat graceful column-like neck, and full bosom, with above all the head-dress—a red handkerchief, worn as women wear it in Zanzibar—and the sweeping folds of the long faded cloth wound loosely round his body, gave one the impression of a superb virago rather than of an African chief in the prime of life. Mandara, like a towering sibyl of five feet ten inches, planted his spear in the ground with an emphasis that long made the blade quiver, gave me one very sharp look out of his only serviceable eye (the sight of the other is destroyed), and then for the moment took no direct notice of my presence, but commenced a long and animated chat with his head policemen, listening apparently with much amusement to their account of the summary way in which the populace had recently been dispersed, and occasionally laughing in a right royal manner, showing, as he did so, a splendid set of teeth.

At last I was nettled by this apparent disregard—it is always dangerous to be too meek and unassuming with African chiefs—so I asked my head-man in an audible tone which of the people present was Mandara, affecting to search for him among the crowd. There was a silence. Then Kiongwe, in the most cringing tone and manner, approached the chief with many a deprecating salaam, affected to kiss his hand, and then begged to inform him that his master, the white man from Zanzibar, the “Consul’s child,” was here, and desired an interview. Mandara’s gaze now rested on me with a benign and singularly winning smile, which effaced the preceding impression that his somewhat heedless manner had produced. I advanced a few steps and said, in rather a hesitating voice, in the middle of a profound silence, “Sultan, the Baloza (Sir John Kirk) sends you many greetings, and hopes you are well.” I had spoken in Swahili, and he replied fluently in the same language, and in a voice pleasantly modulated and different from the hoarse speech of his subjects, “Child of the Baloza, I am pleased to see you. I like your face.” Then, after a short pause, in which his dignity relaxed, he advanced towards me, took my hand, and said, almost in a coaxing manner, “Tuzumgumze! Let us chat.” At this signal all his followers and mine, who had hitherto stood “at attention,” relaxed their attitudes with one accord. No one spoke, but they all sat down, making as they did so that unanimous shuffling which you hear in church when people arise from their knees and sit down to arrange themselves for the sermon; and this analogy was further carried out by the chorus of throat-clearings and hurried coughs which rapidly went the round of my circle of listeners, who were desirous of removing all physical obstacles which should prevent them from thoroughly hearing and understanding the words of wit and wisdom about to fall from our lips. The chief began the interrogatory. “What pretty boots you have got on!” he said. To which I could think of nothing more original to reply than, “Oh, do you think so?” “Yes, they are very fine—‘vizuri sana;’ have you got a pair that would fit me?” This was a question that required rather a diplomatic answer. I had but one pair of patent leather shoes, and I judged from what I saw of Mandara’s foot that they would be quite inadequately sized, so I replied, vaguely, “I will look and see.” But the chief’s attention had already wandered to other subjects. He pressed me with the most varied questions, sometimes too impatient to wait for an answer. “What is the braid on your coat made of?” “Silver.” “Is silver the same as that white stuff on the top of Kilima-njaro?” “And have you come all this way from Ulaya (Europe) to gather the glittering thing that makes Kibô shine in the sun?” “Why is your sultan called Queeny?” “The Arabs tell me Queeny is a woman; is that true?” “Did Queeny send you here?” “No; the Waalimu (wise men) of England have sent me, so that I might see everything there was to be seen on Kilima-njaro, and come home and tell them all about it.” “What did they do that for?” “Because they love knowledge.” Mandara pondered a moment, and then he glanced up and said quickly, “Look! you can write, can’t you? All the Wa-zungu (white men) can. Very well. See everything hereabouts—I will show you—and then write it all to the Waalimu of Ulaya. Your men and mine shall take the letter to the coast, but you shall stop with me, always—eh? Always. I like you; and besides, I want a white man to teach me how to write, and to show my Ma-fundi (artificers) how to make cannon, and instruct my soldiers to fight like the soldiers of Sayyid Barghash of Zanzibar. You know Bwana Mafiu (General Matthews[13])? Well, I want you to be my Bwana Mafiu.” I made no reply to these embarrassing propositions, thinking it better to preserve a discreet silence and gain my ends patiently. Then Mandara continued, in a plaintive voice, “Bwana Tomsen (Mr. Joseph Thomson) came here; I liked him; he was generous, and he spoke well of my country; but he would not stop. ‘Baroni’ (Baron Von der Decken), and Bwana New (the missionary) have both been here, but they came and went. Now,” he added, laughing grimly, “the Baloza has sent you here to see me; well, I don’t want you ever to go. Do you hear? (Usikia?) Never! Now, come along to my house and show me the presents you have brought.” So the meeting was adjourned. Mandara gathered up his skirts, not ungracefully, and stalked off to his compound, whilst I hastily unpacked and arranged the gifts I had brought him, which were as follows: A handsome embroidered “joho” or Arab coat; a “kanzu” (long shirt-like garment); a “kilemba” (stuff for a turban); several “vikoi” or waistbands, and a scarlet fez; a musical-box, many coloured pictures, looking-glasses, mouse-traps, knives, bells, two small barrels of gunpowder, boxes of caps, and a bar of lead.

Fig. 26.—Mandara’s Left Ear.
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Accompanied by Kiongwe, Cephas, and others, I went to his reception-shed. Here he was surrounded by the Swahili courtiers, and seemed in a good humour, apparently appreciating the presents I had brought. Whilst he was examining them, occasionally slapping his thigh with a delighted gesture, or making a curious whistling sound with his pursed-up lips, I had leisure to examine his appearance thoroughly. Of fine height, as I have already observed, probably five feet ten or eleven inches, his frame was splendidly modelled, though the rounded form of his contour indicated a slight tendency to fleshiness. His face was a peculiar one, rather broad across the cheek-bones, with fine arched brows, good forehead, a slightly hooked nose, wide, thin-lipped mouth, and firm, rounded, resolute chin. One eye, as has been already remarked, was blind, and had a vacant glassy stare, but the other was bright as an eagle’s, and lay glittering under an eagle’s brow. The general aspect of his face, especially the hooked nose and high cheek-bones, reminded me of the traditional likeness of the North-American Red Indian Chief. Mandara’s ears, however, were all his own. The fashion of his country and people he had certainly carried to excess. The lobe of both ears had been pierced, and the distended aperture of one had become so enlarged that a great wooden ring had been forced into the centre. I can best explain it by a drawing, as words are quite inadequate. Fortunately, although Mandara would never allow me to take his portrait, I was once able surreptiously to sketch his left ear. The lobe of the other ear was hung with a few small steel chains, and was less remarkable. He had a row of splendid teeth, though there was a slight, probably artificial, space in the centre of the upper incisors. Through this aperture he would often squirt his saliva or his mouthful of banana-beer whenever he grew animated. The colour of his skin was a bluish brown, if you can realize such a combination—I mean a glossy umber with a bloom on it—and there was an entire absence of hair on his face, and the wool of his head was shaved close. As he says he can remember Rebmann’s visit to Kilima-njaro (which took place in 1848), and was about three or four years old at the time, his approximate age at the present time would be about forty years. When I saw him he looked somewhat older, but this is evidently due to premature age creeping over him after a life of unrestrained passions. Mandara had a singularly winning smile, utterly unlike the African grin. While his somewhat curling, cruel lips would relax and display the glistening teeth, his brows would be puckered in a half puzzled, half petulant manner, and at the same time his one, round, living eye, into which all his strong feeling was concentrated, gleamed and glanced with roguish merriment. As he sat and played with his presents, like a great child, impatiently wanting the Swahilis to explain everything in a breath, this smile would constantly pass over his face, and lent it each time a very pleasing, kindly look. He was evidently in a thoroughly good temper on the day of my arrival. He listened attentively to the reading of Sir John Kirk’s letter, examined the seals of the Consulate, asked numberless questions, and chattered to me as freely as though we were old companions. All questions about building, settling, choosing a site in his country, he deferred to a lesser “palaver,” to be arranged by his attendants. Indeed I noticed, that whenever Mandara wished to drive a hard bargain, and this desire never deserted him even in his most gushing outbursts of friendliness, he negotiated it through intermediaries, and never treated directly with me on matters of business, having a royal dislike to saying disagreeable things. Accordingly, on this occasion, when he had exhausted his surprise and delight at the coloured pictures, when he had ceased to turn the handle of the musical-box, and had rung all the bells till their hammers were unhung, and, sure sign of an exhausted brain, had begun to yawn, I craved permission to withdraw, which was gracefully accorded, and I retired to my tent, followed by two Wa-čaga leading fat sheep and carrying bananas as the Sultan’s contribution to my dinner.

Early the next morning I rose and dressed, and was some time performing an unusually protracted toilet, for I had the rare opportunity of being able to dress at my ease without pulling down the tent and hurrying off the men with their loads. On raising the canvas flap, and going out into the fresh morning sunlight, I was somewhat surprised to see Mandara with a circle of soldiers round him inspecting my goods, and carrying on an active conversation with the Zanzibaris. I saluted him gravely, but he returned the greeting, as I thought, somewhat coldly. However, he came and sat down in my deck-chair, and then cast his dangerous gaze around my tent and its furniture. Singling out my dressing-bag he begged to examine it, and I could not refuse; so he passed all its contents through his hands, uttering constantly his curious whistling exclamation, “Tu, tu, tu!” of admiring astonishment. He asked for nothing but an old toothbrush, and though I proffered a new one in exchange, he stuck to his first choice, and resolutely carried it off. After he had left me his counsellors arrived, and the rest of the morning was taken up in bargaining about the amount of goods to be paid for a building-site and permanent settlement in Moši. I say “permanent settlement” because Mandara declared at the time that this first payment was to be the last, and that by coming to terms with his delegates I purchased the land outright and for ever, retaining the power to sell or otherwise dispose of it to any one else. This first agreement he never repudiated, although we afterwards squabbled about the extent of my plantations. The price for the land was fixed at 210 yards of American sheeting, three dozen handkerchiefs, and about thirty pounds of red beads, all of which were immediately paid, and we were informed that on the morrow we might quit Mandara’s presence, and fix on any unoccupied site that pleased us. These preliminaries concluded, I began to enjoy a little well-earned repose, and settled down to sketch some of the scenery, which was lovely enough to move even exclamations of admiration from my stolid Zanzibaris. Above me, to the north, rose majestically the snowy dome of Kibô,[14] untouched by mist, and clearly cut against the smalt-blue sky. The middle distance was hidden, and the trees of the foreground seemed to touch the snow with their waving tops. Below me, on the other side, lay stretched a vast plain, marked, as on a map, with rivers, mountains, and forests, and stretching away into hazy space, where it mingled with the low-lying strata of cloud. We were only 3,500 feet above the sea at Mandara’s, and relatively at the very foot of the mountain; but the view on all sides, above and below, was unusually magnificent. I was interrupted in my sketching by a messenger from the chief. I could not at first understand the import of his message, as he spoke in Ki-čaga, but with the aid of an interpreter I ascertained he bore a request that I would go and visit one of Mandara’s wives who was sick. Hearing the cause of her indisposition was a virulent ulcer, I took with me the necessary ointments, and followed the messenger alone, being conducted to a quiet little square inside a palisade, where, in three beehive huts, dwelt the three principal wives of Mandara. I was introduced to the ailing lady, who scarcely glanced at me, merely sticking out a leg, on which festered a hideous sore. She had been fanning it to keep away the flies before my arrival, but now quietly surrendered it to me, imagining, poor simple thing, that I should immediately cure it. I explained to her, however, that recovery would be slow and gradual. Then laving the ulcer in cold spring-water, which was brought to me in a broken gourd, I applied to it the kind of ointment recommended in my medicine-book, and, bandaging up her leg, added much good advice, and left. I suppose my simple skill had made a due impression, for I was hardly back in camp and sketching once more when the messenger arrived again, informing me there were more of Mandara’s wives needing my assistance, and insisting on my starting to see them without delay. Feeling annoyed at these constant demands on my time and medicine-chest, I nevertheless complied, in order to keep on good terms with the chief, but this time I resolved to use a coarser and scarcely less effectual remedy for open sores—paraffin—of which I had an ample store. So, with a small tin of this mineral oil, more lint, and more linen bandaging, I again followed the messenger, and this time was taken to a different quarter, where I entered a large, low-pitched, round building, with a peaked roof—in fact a big beehive hut. The interior being only lighted by the low doorway, it was at first impossible to distinguish anything in the gloom, especially as a curious odorous steam, and the smoke of a wood fire mingled and rendered the obscurity inside denser. At length, however, I could make out that the building was divided into a certain number of stalls, separated in the centre by a broad lane. On one side were milch cows, some four or five, each with a calf, and each in her separate stall; on the other were about the same number of women, one or two with children. They evinced little surprise or amusement at seeing me, and all but the sick one went on with the food-preparing avocations they were already engaged in. I dressed the woman’s ulcer with paraffin, left her some oil for a further application, and withdrew, half-stifled with the ammoniacal odours of this stable-harem. Once more back in camp I had many further calls here and there to visit patients and treat the most varied disorders, from a broken arm to insanity and blindness. In all cases it was hoped that I should effect immediate cures, and had I commenced a series of miracles, no surprise would have been elicited, so great was the implicit faith in a white man’s “healing-magic.” But now, somewhat nettled at the calm way in which I was ordered about, I intimated that all who wished for medicine or medical advice must come for it in person, and wait my pleasure to be attended to. In no wise rebuffed, the subjects of Mandara thronged the precincts of my tent, and would have overrun everything and sullied all the clean appurtenances of my little habitation, had I not formed a stout barrier of bales and boxes, and set a strong guard to keep order among the rabble. Then one by one I saw the sick, the maimed, the hopelessly diseased, and, in a few hours, had made more saddening acquaintance with the ills that flesh is heir to—even in a pristine, savage state—than had been afforded to me under any previous circumstances of my wandering career. The whole of that evening I patiently inquired into each complaint, and, to the best of my poor ability, administered medical relief.