The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (49 page)

Just at dark our canoes came back with three prisoners bound hand and foot. Except the poor dwarf at Ikondu up river, I had not seen any human creatures so unlovable to look at. I would not
disturb them, however, that evening, but releasing their feet, and relaxing the bonds on their arms, appointed Katembo and his friend to keep them company and feed them, and Wadi Rehani to
stimulate the keepers to be hospitable.

By the morning they were sociable, and replied readily to our questions. They were of the Wanongi – an inland tribe – but they had a small fishing village about an hour’s
journey below our camp called Katumbi. A powerful tribe called the Mwana Ntaba occupied a country below Katumbi, near some falls, which they warned us would be our destruction. On the left side of
the river, opposite the Mwana Ntaba, were the Wavinza, south of a large river called the Rumami, or Lumami. The great river on which we had voyaged was known to them as the Lowwa.

As we stepped into our canoes we cut their bonds and permitted the unlovable and unsympathetic creatures to depart, a permission of which they availed themselves gladly.

The banks were from 10 to 30 feet high, of a grey-brown clay, and steep with old clearings, which were frequent at this part until below Katumbi. Half an hour afterwards we arrived at a channel
which flowed in a sudden bend to the north-east, and, following it, we found ourselves abreast of a most populous shore, close to which we glided. Presently several large canoes appeared from
behind an island to our right, and seemed to be hesitating as to whether they should retreat or advance.

The “Open Sesame” – “Sen-nen-neh!” – was loudly uttered by Katembo with his usual pathetic, bleating accent, and to our joy the word was repeated by over a
hundred voices. “Sen-nen-neh! Sen-nenneh! Sennenneh!” – each voice apparently vying with the other in loudness. The river bore us down, and as they would not shorten the distance,
we thought it better to keep this condition of things, lest the movement might be misconstrued, and we might be precipitated into hostilities.

For half an hour we glided down in this manner, keeping up a constant fire of smiling compliments and pathetic Sennennehs. Indeed, we were discovering that there was much virtue in a protracted
and sentimental pronunciation of Sen-nen-neh! The men of the Expedition, who had previously ridiculed with mocking Ba-a-a-a-as, the absurd moan and plaintive accents of Sen-nen-neh, which Katembo
had employed, now admired him for his tact. The good natives with whom we were now exchanging these suave, bleating courtesies proved to us that the true shibboleth of peace was to prolong each
word with a quavering moan and melancholic plaint.

We came to a banana grove, of a delicious and luxuriant greenness which the shadowy black green of the antique forest behind it, only made more agreeable and pleasant. Beyond this grove, the
bank was lined by hundreds of men and women, standing or sitting down, their eyes directed towards our approaching flotilla.

“Sen-nen-neh!” was delivered with happy effect by one of the boat-boys. A chorus of Sen-nen-nehs, long-drawn, loud, and harmonious, quickly following the notes of the last syllable,
burst from the large assembly, until both banks of the great river re-echoed it with all its indescribable and ludicrous pathos.

The accents were peaceful, the bearing of the people and the presence of the women were unmistakably pacific, so the word was given to drop anchor.

The natives in the canoes, who had hitherto preceded us, were invited to draw near, but they shrugged their shoulders, and declined the responsibility of beginning any intercourse with the
strangers. We appealed to the concourse on the banks, for we were not a hundred feet from them. They burst out into a loud laughter, yet with nothing of scorn or contempt in it, for we had been so
long accustomed to the subtle differences of passion that we were by this time adepts in discovering the nicest shades of feeling which wild humanity is capable of expressing. We held out our hands
to them with palms upturned, heads sentimentally leaning on one side, and, with a captivating earnestness of manner, begged them to regard us as friends, strangers far from their homes, who had
lost their way, but were endeavouring to find it by going down the river.

The effect is manifest. A kind of convulsion of tenderness appears to animate the entire host. Expressions of pity break from them, and there is a quick interchange of sympathetic opinions.

“Ah,” thought I, “how delighted Livingstone would have been had he been here to regard this scene! Assuredly he would have been enraptured, and become more firmly impressed
than ever with the innocence and guilelessness of true aborigines,” and I am forced to admit it is exceedingly pleasant, but – I wait.

We hold up long necklaces of beads of various colours to view: blue, red, white, yellow, and black.

“Ah-h-h,” sigh a great many, admiringly, and heads bend toward heads in praise and delight of them.

“Come, my friends, let us talk. Bring one canoe here. These to those who dare to approach us.” There is a short moment of hesitation, and then some forms disappear, and presently
come out again bearing gourds, chickens, bananas, and vegetables, &c., which they place carefully in a small canoe. Two women step in and boldly paddle towards us, while a deathly silence
prevails among my people as well as among the aborigines on the bank.

I observed one or two coquettish airs on the part of the two women, but though my arm was getting tired with holding out so long in one position those necklaces of glorious beads, I dared not
withdraw them, lest the fascination might be broken. I felt myself a martyr in the cause of public peace, and the sentiment made me bear up stoically.

“Boy,” I muttered, in an undertone, to Mabruki, my gun-bearer, “when the canoe is alongside, seize it firmly and do not let it escape.”

“Inshallah, my master.”

Nearer the canoe came, and with its approach my blandness increased, and further I projected my arm with those beads of tempting colours.

At last the canoe was paddled alongside. Mabruki quietly grasped it. I then divided the beads into sets, talking the while to Katembo – who translated for me – of the happiness I
felt at the sight of two such beautiful women coming out to see the white chief, who was so good, and who loved to talk to beautiful women. “There! these are for you – and these are for
you,” I said to the steerswoman and her mate.

They clapped their hands in glee, and each woman held out her presents in view of the shore people; and hearty hand-claps from all testified to their grateful feelings.

The women then presented me with the gourds of malofu – palm-wine – the chickens, bananas, potatoes, and cassava they had brought, which were received by the boat’s crew and
the interested members of the Expedition with such a hearty clapping of hands that it sent the shore people into convulsions of laughter. Mabruki was told now to withdraw his hand, as the women
were clinging to the boats themselves, and peace was assured. Presently the great native canoes drew near and alongside the boat, forming dense walls of strange humanity on either side.

“Tell us, friends,” we asked, “why it is you are so friendly, when those up the river are so wicked?”

Then a chief said, “Because yesterday some of our fishermen were up the river on some islets near Kibombo Island, opposite the Amu-Nyam villages; and when we heard the war-drums of the
Amu-Nyam we looked up, and saw your canoes coming down. You stopped at Kibombo Island, and we heard you speak to them, saying you were friends. But the Amu-Nyam are bad; they eat people, we
don’t. They fight with us frequently, and whomsoever they catch they eat. They fought with you, and while you were fighting our fishermen came down and told us that the Wajiwa” (we)
“were coming; but they said that they heard the Wajiwa say that they came as friends, and that they did not want to fight. To-day we sent a canoe, with a woman and a boy up the river, with
plenty of provisions in it. If you had been bad people, you would have taken that canoe. We were behind the bushes of that island watching you; but you said ‘Sen-nen-neh’ to them, and
passed into the channel between the island and our villages. Had you seized that canoe, our drums would have sounded for war, and you would have had to fight us, as you fought the Amu-Nyam. We have
left our spears on one of those islands. See, we have nothing.”

It was true, as I had already seen, to my wonder and admiration. Here, then, I had opportunities for noting what thin barriers separated ferocity from amiability. Only a couple of leagues above
lived the cannibals of Amu-Nyam, who had advanced towards us with evil and nauseous intentions; but next to them was a tribe which detested the unnatural custom of eating their own species, with
whom we had readily formed a pact of peace and goodwill!

They said their country was called Kankoré, the chief of which was Sangarika, and that the village opposite to us was Maringa; and that three miles below was Simba-Simba; that their
country was small, and only reached to the end of the islands; that after we had passed the islands we should 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.

Having obtained so much information from the amiable Kankoré, we lifted our stone anchors and moved gently down stream. Before each village we passed groups of men and women seated on the
banks, who gave a genial response to our peaceful greeting.

We were soon below the islands on our left, and from a course north by west the river gradually swerved to north by east, and the high banks on our right, which rose from 80 to 150 feet, towered
above us, with grassy breaks here and there agreeably relieving the sombre foliage of groves.

About 2 p.m., as we were proceeding quietly and listening with all our ears for the terrible falls of which we had been warned, 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 dented 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 50 feet long, except that antique century-old vessel which we had repaired as a hospital for our small-pox patients; 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
85 feet 3 inches in length, rashly made the mistake of singling out the boat for its victim; but we reserved our fire until it was within 50 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 200 yards wide, which I have called the Leopold River, in honour of His Majesty Leopold II, King of the Belgians, and which the natives called either the
Kankora, Mikonju, or Munduku. Perhaps, the natives were misleading me, or perhaps they really possessed a superfluity of names, but I think that whatever name they give it should be mentioned in
connection with each stream.

Soon after passing by the confluence, the Livingstone, which above had been 2500 yards wide, perceptibly contracted, and turned sharply to the east-north-east, because of a hill which rose on
the left bank about 300 feet above the river. Close to the elbow of the bend on the right bank we passed by some white granite rocks, from 1 to 6 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 should 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!

A NOVICE AT LARGE

Joseph Thomson

(1858–95)

Barely twenty and just out of Edinburgh University, Thomson was unexpectedly employed on the Royal Geographical Society’s 1878 expedition to the Central African lakes.
Though later amongst the greatest African explorers, he retained the caution and humour of one who felt himself an inexperienced impostor. Unlike Burton he admired Africans; unlike Stanley he would
not fight them. His motto
–
"he who goes slowly, goes safely; he who goes safely, goes far” – was never more seriously tested than when, just six weeks inland from Dar es
Salaam, his first expedition lost Keith Johnston, its leader and Thomson’s only European companion.