The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (50 page)

A
s we had now arrived at the confines of the well cultivated and populous districts, it was necessary to be cautious in our movements, not pushing
too hastily forward, but taking as our motto “be sure of every step before making it.” As our guide was not certain about the best route for such a large caravan, so as to get food, we
decided to send him forward a few marches to report upon the country. In the interval we enjoyed ourselves after various fashions; Johnston kept up incessant inquiries regarding the countries we
would pass through, and spent the time in other profitable ways, while I wandered about hunting for beetles and butterflies, beasts, and crawling things of different kinds. But though I searched
most assiduously the result was invariably disappointing. Everything animate seemed determined to keep out of my sight. Rarely did any living creature fall into my snares. Still, a lover of nature
always finds something in these rambles interesting enough to draw him out. The great stillness of the forest and the entire novelty of his surroundings are of themselves sufficient to keep him
from wearying.

One day, having nothing to do, we were suddenly taken with a fever for hunting. Wonderful stories had been told us of the abundance of hippos in a small lake a few miles distant, which did great
damage to the crops. We resolved to become the benefactors of the natives and rid them of their ravagers. Fired with the idea we at once seized our heavy rifles, and taking one or two men and a
guide set off for the field of action.

Joseph Thomson. From
To the Central African Lakes and Back,
London,1881.

The men wanted to carry our rifles for us, but this we loftily refused as derogatory to the dignity of sportsmen. For the same reason we refused to be borne across a stream, and I dashing in got
a fine ducking, by tripping over a root in my haste to show that I could rough it with impunity. I, however, only laughed, and declared it to be the very best of fun. Pushing along for an hour, we
were overtaken with rain. The path disappeared, and the grass became drenched with wet. Such little troubles were of course beneath the notice of sportsmen! Then we entered a horrid miry swamp,
full of pitfalls and holes, which squirted mud over us till we looked the most blotched of individuals. We slipped and floundered about in the most wearisome manner, till at last, finding my rifle
becoming rather heavy, I argued to myself that it would look more dignified if an attendant carried it. I should then be able to speak of “my gun-bearer!” This “happy
thought” I at once acted upon, and Johnston, glad of such an example, also relieved himself of his gun. Another hour through swamp, jungle, and forest, and we emerged finally beside the
so-called lake, followed by a crowd who were eager to witness our exploits, and whom we of course determined to astonish.

But where was the lake? A stretch of marshy-looking country spread out before us; and it was only after some investigation we made out that a body of water did lie at our feet, but hidden by a
thick covering of floating vegetation, except at the centre, where we were told the hippos were to be found. This took us rather aback, as we would require to wade an indefinite distance by a
hippos’ track to reach the clear water. Our fervour for sport rather cooled at this prospect. Might there not be crocodiles or water-snakes hidden beneath the vegetation, ready to take a mean
advantage and snap at us unseen?

We resorted to various plans in order to get a sight of the monsters. Trees were climbed and the treacherous edge of the mere was patiently investigated, but all to no purpose. The natives began
to look disappointed, and evidently we were fast falling in their estimation. This rather nettled us. The idea of an ignominious retreat was anything but acceptable. Still the attempt to reach the
open water seemed to mean an amount of trouble and discomfort out of all proportion to the value of the possible sport.

Chopfallen, we were therefore about to retire to our camp, when from the haunt of the hippos came three distinct grunts. We were fairly electrified. Were we to brook these notes of satiric
triumph, and meekly accept our defeat? It was impossible! At once boots and coats were off, and in a minute Johnston dashed into the open track through the floating vegetation.

Struck with admiration, I stood and watched him. His footing seemed to be rather shaky from the way in which he moved forward, with “light springing footsteps.” Further and further
he boldly ventured. Deeper and deeper he got, while ever and anon the hippos grunted out defiance, and the mob shouted encouragement on the banks. The liquid mud reached his hip, then his waist,
and gradually crept up till his armpits were reached, and still he had not attained the open water. It was a critical moment. He paused and looked back; then sternly making another step forward, he
suddenly dropped out of sight, with only his gun above water. A few minutes later, he was hauled to the bank, covered with a thick integument of odoriferous mud, baffled and defeated; and loud rose
the victorious grunt of the hippos.

While the men scraped off the obnoxious cuticle, I made an attempt in another direction, and returned in like manner to take my turn under the scraper. Johnston the while stood shivering and
chilly. Feeling as if it would relieve us to indulge in a little strong language we commenced our return, crest-fallen, and in a most pitiable plight, thought before we once more re-entered Mkamba
the pouring rain had pretty well washed the mud out of our clothes, and saved our washerman that trouble. We concluded that night that hippopotamus hunting was not exhilarating.

On the following morning, Johnston felt a pain in his back which he supposed to be rheumatic, and under that belief, took what he understood to be appropriate medicines. All too late, however,
he found out that it was the commencement of a more deadly disease, as we shall see, in the course of our narrative.

Previous to this excursion, some capital observations were made, which fixed the latitude of Mkamba. From the very first day’s march, Johnston had assiduously attempted to take meridian
altitudes of various stars, but owing to the cloudy condition of the skies, had failed on every occasion.

On the third day after his departure, our guide returned from his reconnaissance of the country ahead, and brought a very unfavourable report. There would be eight days’ march, in which no
food could be got. Supplies would therefore require to be provided at Mkamba and a village two days further on. To this task, then, we immediately set ourselves. Men were despatched to every
village to buy rice. In an hour, the camp when they returned, laden with bags of food.

On the following day, all the wooden mortars of the place were secured for husking the rice, and round these, animated groups pounded vigorously, keeping time to most peculiar chants. These
mortars or “kinus” are wineglass-shaped blocks of wood, hollowed out to receive the rice, which is belaboured with a pole four feet long, struck vertically downwards. The process is
very slow and laborious. The husks are removed by the horizontal motion of an almost flat basket, which separates the heavy grain from its light covering.

Having occasion here to flog one of the men for flagrant disobedience, I was greatly disgusted to see how much the others enjoyed the sight of the man’s punishment. Yelling with laughter,
they seized him with savage glee, had him down in a minute, turned him on his face, and held him as with a vice, while the punishment proceeded under the cane of Chuma.

There is, however, one good trait in the men’s character. They never harbour any grudge or revengeful feeling if their punishment has been just. Half an hour after the ordeal they may be
seen laughing and joking with the very men who held them. This of course may arise from the fact that no sense of degradation accompanies punishment, not even that of flogging; and being naturally
lighthearted, and of a devil-may-care disposition, they soon forget.

While preparing for renewing our march, one of our porters disappeared, and suspecting that he had made direct for the coast, we despatched one of the headmen and a porter to hunt him up.

After this unpleasant detention, we with pleasure got once more
en route,
though Mr. Johnston was much pained by his illness; and the rain, which had never ceased during our stay, still
continued with unabated violence, submerging all the low-lying tracts, and turning the footpaths in the higher ground into raging torrents, along which it was a weariness to struggle. Still these
were pleasant days to us, when with robust frames and eager enthusiasm we only rejoiced in the troubles and hardships of our march. We had come prepared for all this; indeed, we should almost have
felt disappointed if our route had proved easy and pleasant. Ridiculous as it may seem, we thought ourselves entirely unworthy of the honourable title of African travellers until we should have
undergone such an apprenticeship of endurance and physical discipline. Disease and bad food had not then broken our spirits and undermined our constitutions. But that time came only too soon, and
then one of us was added to a roll which in the sanguine hopefulness of good health we did not anticipate.

At Madodo, where we camped the first night after leaving Mkamba, we were astonished at the reappearance of our lost porter. He gave a most creditable account of himself. Hearing at Mkamba
through some unknown source that his wife was very ill on the coast, he clandestinely went off to see her, fearing that, if we knew, he would not be allowed to go. In three days he traversed more
than 120 miles, saw his wife, and returned like a faithful fellow to his work. Such a deed is worthy of honour in any land, but is especially noteworthy among such a race as the reviled Waswahili.
During the night the men sent after the runaway returned, having followed him to the coast, marching night and day. There they heard the true version of the affair, and came back to find him safe
in our camp.

Two more days’ toil under the afore-mentioned wretched conditions brought us to the village of Msangapwani, where, as we had now reached the borders of the inhabited and populated
district, we were compelled to halt to collect more food in anticipation of the desert marches.

When we arrived at Msangapwani neither of us had a single dry article of clothing, so little had the sun shone to give us an opportunity of freeing them from moisture. As one suit got wet
another was put on, till at last we had to be content with a wet one. Even our blankets were damp and clammy, while the close steaming air was impregnated with malaria. The natural consequence of
this was that Johnston became much worse. Here also he discovered, what he had not hitherto suspected, that it was dysentery, and not rheumatism with which he was troubled. Meanwhile I was likewise
laid low with an attack of fever.

In these circumstances matters looked rather lugubrious and melancholy. We tried to joke feebly with each other on our ailments; but I could hardly hold my head erect, and Johnston was looking
the agonies he would not express in words. While the men were employed collecting and preparing food, we resolved, after a council of war, to dismiss the guide we engaged at Zanzibar, as he clearly
knew nothing about the road.

We had here a visit from an Mganga, or medicine man, fantastically dressed. He had with him an obscene image of a woman, clothed with beads, and looking like an absurd toy. Though he did not
appear to have very much respect for his goddess, if such we might call it, yet he would not sell it under an exorbitant price. When using it, he irreverently shakes it in a bag, and, thus
awakened, the oracle speaks, unheard, of course, by the materialistic ear of the mob, and declares its mind on whatever subject it may be consulted.

After a three days’ enforced stay at Msangapwani, we once more got under weigh. We both presented a very pitiable and woe-begone aspect when we stepped out. We were by no means
promising-looking leaders. As usual, I was in front, trying, like a drunken man, to assume some dignity of appearance, though I have no doubt the attempt was rather comical. Johnston was in the
rear, even in a worse condition. Our march was, as before, made miserable by drenching rains, and we had to struggle successively through long grass, swamps, and deep swollen streams. At midday our
efforts ended in a complete collapse. Johnston arrived an hour after me. As he appeared, I tried to look jolly, and to hail him with a consolatory remark, but his only response to my weak attempt
was a groan, as he sank exhausted on the ground.

Two hours’ rest and a cup of hot tea somewhat reinvigorated us, and as we could not camp where we were, we staggered on a little further to a more suitable locality in the forest. The
tents were pitched, and a boma, or thorn fence formed, inside which the men made their huts. For three days we were confined in our tents
hors de combat,
and unable to do anything. Chuma,
however, was equal to the occasion, and kept everything in order. It is under such circumstances that the value of a man like Chuma is understood. One with less influence and tact would be unable
to keep down riot and disorder. One with less honesty would certainly take the opportunity to help himself in various ways. The worst of my attack was soon over, and I recovered with remarkable
rapidity. Johnston also decidedly improved.