by John Keay
In Burton a brilliant mind and dauntless physique were matched with a restless spirit and a deeply troubled soul to produce the most complex of characters. Contemptuous of other mortals, including Speke, his companion and rival, he found solace only in the extremities of erudition and adventure. The classic accounts of his journeys to Mecca (1853) and Harar (1854) appeared in a more digestible narrative as Wanderings in Three Continents. Here he also describes his celebrated foray from Dar es Salaam to Lake Tanganyika (1857) in search of the source of the Nile.
On June 26th, 1857, I set out in earnest on a journey into the far interior.
At Nzasa I was visited by three native chiefs, who came to ascertain whether I was bound on a peaceful errand. When I assured them of my unwarlike intentions, they told me I must halt on the morrow and send forth a message to the next chief, but as this plan invariably loses three days, I replied that I could not be bound by their rules, but was ready to pay for their infraction. During the debate upon this fascinating proposal for breaking the law, one of the most turbulent of the Baloch, who were native servants in my train, drew his sword upon an old woman because she refused to give up a basket of grain. She rushed, with the face of a black Medusa, into the assembly, and created a great disturbance. When that was allayed, the principal chief asked me what brought the white man into their country, and at the same time to predict the loss of their gains and commerce, land and liberty.
“I am old,” he quoth pathetically, “and my beard is grey, yet I never beheld such a calamity as this.”
“These men,” replied my interpreter, “neither buy nor sell; they do not inquire into price, nor do they covet profit.”
An extravagant present – for at that time I was ignorant of the price I ought to pay – opened the chiefs’ hearts, and they appointed one of their body to accompany me as far as the western half of the Kingani valley. They also caused to be performed a dance of ceremony in my honour. A line of small, plump, chestnut-coloured women, with wild, beady eyes and thatch of clay-plastered hair, dressed in their loin-cloths, with a profusion of bead necklaces and other ornaments, and with their ample bosoms tightly corded down, advanced and retired in a convulsion of wriggle and contortion, whose fit expression was a long discordant howl. I threw them a few strings of green beads, and one of these falling to the ground, I was stooping to pick it up when Said, my interpreter whispered, in my ear, “Bend not; they will say ‘He will not bend even to take up beads.’”
In some places I found the attentions of the fair sex somewhat embarrassing, but when I entered the fine green fields that guarded the settlements of Muhoewee, I was met en masse by the ladies of the villages, who came out to stare, laugh, and wonder at the white man.
“What would you think of these whites as husbands?” asked one of the crowd.
“With such things on their legs, not by any means!” was the unanimous reply, accompanied by peals of merriment.
On July 8th I fell into what my Arab called the “Valley of Death and the Home of Hunger,” a malarious level plain. Speke, whom I shall henceforth call my companion, was compelled by sickness to ride. The path, descending into a dense thicket of spear grass, bush, and thorny trees based on sand, was rough and uneven, but when I arrived at a ragged camping kraal, I found the water bad, and a smell of decay was emitted by the dark, dank ground. It was a most appalling day, and one I shall not lightly forget. From the black clouds driven before furious blasts pattered raindrops like musket bullets, splashing the already saturated ground. Tall, stiff trees groaned and bent before the gusts; birds screamed as they were driven from their resting-places; the asses stood with heads depressed, ears hung down, and shrinking tails turned to the wind; even the beasts of the wild seemed to have taken refuge in their dens.
Despite our increasing weakness, we marched on the following day, when we were interrupted by a body of about fifty Wazaramo, who called to us to halt. We bought them off with a small present of cloth and beads, and they stood aside to let us pass. I could not but admire the athletic and statuesque figures of the young warriors, and their martial attitudes, grasping in one hand their full-sized bows, and in the other sheaths of grinded arrows, whose black barbs and necks showed a fresh layer of poison.
Though handicapped by a very inadequate force, in eighteen days we accomplished, despite sickness and every manner of difficulty, a march of one hundred and eighteen miles, and entered K’hutu, the safe rendez-vous of foreign merchants, on July 14th. I found consolation in the thought that the expedition had passed without accident through the most dangerous part of the journey.
Resuming our march through the maritime region, on July 15th we penetrated into a thick and tangled jungle, with luxuriant and putrescent vegetation. Presently, however, the dense thicket opened out into a fine park country, peculiarly rich in game, where the giant trees of the seaboard gave way to mimosas, gums, and stunted thorns. Large gnus pranced about, pawing the ground and shaking their formidable manes; hartebeest and other antelopes clustered together on the plain. The homely cry of the partridge resounded from the brake, and the guinea-fowls looked like large bluebells upon the trees. Small land-crabs took refuge in pits and holes, which made the path a cause of frequent accidents, whilst ants of various kinds, crossing the road in close columns, attacked man and beast ferociously, causing the caravan to break into a halting, trotting hobble. The weather was a succession of raw mists, rain in torrents, and fiery sunbursts; the land appeared rotten, and the jungle smelt of death. At Kiruru I found a cottage and enjoyed for the first time an atmosphere of sweet, warm smoke. My companion would remain in the reeking, miry tent, where he partially laid the foundations of the fever which afterwards threatened his life in the mountains of Usagara.
Despite the dangers of hyenas, leopards, and crocodiles, we were delayed by the torrents of rain in the depths of the mud at Kiruru. We then resumed our march under most unpromising conditions. Thick grass and the humid vegetation rendered the black earth greasy and slippery, and the road became worse as we advanced. In three places we crossed bogs from a hundred yards to a mile in length, and admitting a man up to the knee. The porters plunged through them like laden animals, and I was obliged to be held upon the ass. At last we reached Dut’humi, where we were detained nearly a week, for malaria had brought on attacks of marsh fever, which, in my case, thoroughly prostrated me. I had during the fever fit, and often for hours afterwards, a queer conviction of divided identity, never ceasing to be two persons that generally thwarted and opposed each other. The sleepless nights brought with them horrid visions, animals of grisliest form, and hag-like women and men.
Dut’humi is one of the most fertile districts in K’hutu, and, despite its bad name as regards climate, Arabs sometimes reside here for some months for the purpose of purchasing slaves cheaply, and to repair their broken fortunes for a fresh trip into the interior. This kept up a perpetual feud amongst the chiefs of the country, and scarcely a month passed without fields being laid waste, villages burnt down, and the unhappy cultivators being carried off to be sold.
On July 24th, feeling strong enough to advance, we passed out of the cultivation of Dut’humi. Beyond the cultivation the road plunged into a jungle, where the European traveller realised every preconceived idea of Africa’s aspect at once hideous and grotesque. The general appearance is a mingling of bush and forest, most monotonous to the eye. The black, greasy ground, veiled with thick shrubbery, supports in the more open spaces screens of tiger and spear grass twelve and thirteen feet high, with every blade a finger’s breadth; and the towering trees are often clothed with huge creepers, forming heavy columns of densest verdure. The earth, ever rain-drenched, emits the odour of sulphuretted hydrogen, and in some parts the traveller might fancy a corpse to be hidden behind every bush. That no feature of miasma might be wanting to complete the picture, filthy heaps of the meanest hovels sheltered their miserable inhabitants, whose frames are lean with constant intoxication, and whose limbs are distorted w
ith ulcerous sores. Such a revolting scene is East Africa from Central K’hutu to the base of the Usagara Mountains.
After a long, long tramp the next day through rice swamps, we came to the nearest outposts of the Zungomero district. Here were several caravans, with pitched tents, piles of ivory, and crowds of porters. The march had occupied us over four weeks, about double the usual time, and a gang of thirty-six Wanyamwezi native porters whom I had sent on in advance to Zungomero naturally began to suspect accident.
Zungomero was not a pleasant place, and though the sea breeze was here strong, beyond its influence the atmosphere was sultry and oppressive. It was the great centre of traffic in the eastern regions. Lying upon the main trunk road, it must be traversed by the up and down caravans, and during the travelling season, between June and April, large bodies of some thousand men pass through it every week. It was, therefore, a very important station, and the daily expenditure of large caravans being considerable, there was a good deal of buying and selling.
When we were ready to start from Zungomero, our whole party amounted to a total of one hundred and thirty-two souls, whom I need not, I think, describe in detail. We had plenty of cloth and beads for traffic with the natives, a good store of provisions, arms, and ammunition, a certain amount of camp furniture, instruments, such as chronometers, compasses, thermometers, etc., a stock of stationery, plenty of useful tools, clothing, bedding, and shoes, books and drawing materials, a portable domestic medicine chest, and a number of miscellaneous articles. As life at Zungomero was the acme of discomfort, I was glad enough to leave it.
On August 7th, 1857, our expedition left Zungomero to cross the East African ghauts in rather a pitiful plight. We were martyred by miasma; my companion and I were so feeble that we could hardly sit our asses, and we could scarcely hear. It was a day of severe toil, and we loaded with great difficulty.
From Central Zungomero to the nearest ascent of the Usagara Mountains is a march of five hours; and, after a painful and troublesome journey, we arrived at the frontier of the first gradient of the Usagara Mountains. Here we found a tattered kraal, erected by the last passing caravan, and, spent with fatigue, we threw ourselves on the short grass to rest. We were now about three hundred feet above the plain level, and there was a wondrous change of climate. Strength and health returned as if by magic; the pure sweet mountain air, alternately soft and balmy, put new life into us. Our gipsy encampment was surrounded by trees, from which depended graceful creepers, and wood-apples large as melons. Monkeys played at hide-and-seek, chattering behind the bolls, as the iguana, with its painted scale-armour, issued forth; white-breasted ravens cawed, doves cooed on well-clothed boughs, and the field cricket chirped in the shady bush. By night the view disclosed a peaceful scene, the moonbeams lying like sheets of snow upon the ruddy highlands, and the stars shone like glow-lamps in the dome above. I never wearied of contemplating the scene, and contrasting it with the Slough of Despond, unhappy Zungomero. We stayed here two days, and then resumed our upward march.
All along our way we were saddened by the sight of clean-picked skeletons and here and there the swollen corpses of porters who had perished by the wayside. A single large body passed us one day, having lost fifty of their number by smallpox, and the sight of their deceased comrades made a terrible impression. Men staggered on, blinded by disease; mothers carried infants as loathsome as themselves. He who once fell never rose again. No village would admit a corpse into its precincts, and they had to lie there until their agony was ended by the vulture, the raven, and the hyena. Several of my party caught the infection, and must have thrown themselves into the jungle, for when they were missed they could not be found. The farther we went on, the more we found the corpses; it was a regular way of death. Our Moslems passed them with averted faces, and with the low “La haul” of disgust.
When we arrived at Rufutah, I found that nearly all our instruments had been spoilt or broken; and one discomfort followed another until we arrived at Zonhwe, which was the turning-point of our expedition’s difficulties.
As we went on, the path fell easily westwards through a long, grassy incline, cut by several water-courses. At noon I lay down fainting in the sandy bed of the Muhama, and, keeping two natives with me, I begged my companion to go on, and send me back a hammock from the halting-place. My men, who before had become mutinous and deserting, when they saw my extremity came out well; even the deserters reappeared, and they led me to a place where stagnant water was found, and said they were sorry. At two o’clock, as my companion did not send a hammock, I remounted, and passed through several little villages. I found my caravan halted on a hillside, where they had been attacked by a swarm of wild bees.
Our march presented curious contrasts of this strange African nature, which is ever in extremes. At one time a splendid view would charm me; above, a sky of purest azure, flecked with fleecy clouds. The plain was as a park in autumn, burnt tawny by the sun. A party was at work merrily, as if preparing for an English harvest home. Calabashes and clumps of evergreen trees were scattered over the scene, each stretching its lordly arms aloft. The dove, the peewit, and the guinea-fowl fluttered about. The most graceful of animals, the zebra and the antelope, browsed in the distance. Then suddenly the fair scene would vanish as if by enchantment. We suddenly turned into a tangled mass of tall, fœtid reeds, rank jungle, and forest. After the fiery sun and dry atmosphere of the plains, the sudden effect of the damp and clammy chill was overpowering. In such places one feels as if poisoned by miasma; a shudder runs through the frame, and cold perspiration breaks over the brow.
So things went on until September 4th, which still found us on the march. We had reached the basin of Inenge, which lies at the foot of the Windy Pass, the third and westernmost range of the Usagara Mountains. The climate is ever in extremes; during the day a furnace, and at night a refrigerator. Here we halted. The villagers of the settlements overlooking the ravine flocked down to barter their animals and grain.
The halt was celebrated by abundant drumming and droning, which lasted half the night; it served to raise the spirits of the men, who had talked of nothing the whole day but the danger of being attacked by the Wahumba, a savage tribe. The next morning there arrived a caravan of about four hundred porters, marching to the coast under the command of some Arab merchants. We interchanged civilities, and I was allured into buying a few yards of rope and other things, and also some asses. One of my men had also increased his suite, unknown to me at first, by the addition of Zawada – the “Nice Gift.” She was a woman of about thirty, with black skin shining like a patent leather boot, a bulging brow, little red eyes, a wide mouth, which displayed a few long, scattered teeth, and a figure considerably too bulky for her thin legs. She was a patient and hardworking woman, and respectable enough in the acceptation of the term. She was at once married off to old Musangesi, one of the donkey-men, whose nose and chin made him a caricature of our old friend Punch. After detecting her in a lengthy walk, perhaps not a solitary one, he was guilty of such cruelty to her that I felt compelled to decree a dissolution of the marriage, and she returned safely to Zanzibar. At Inenge another female slave was added to our troop in the person of Sikujui – “Don’t Know” – a herculean person with a virago manner. The channel of her upper lip had been pierced to admit a bone, which gave her the appearance of having a duck’s bill. “Don’t Know’s” morals were frightful. She was duly espoused, in the forlorn hope of making her a respectable woman, to Goha, the sturdiest of the Wak’hutu porters; after a week she treated him with sublime contempt. She gave him first one and then a dozen rivals, and she disordered the whole caravan with her irregularities, in addition to breaking every article entrusted to her charge, and at last deserted shamelessly, so that her husband finally disposed of her to a travelling trader in exchange for a few measures of rice. Her ultimate fate I do not know, but the trader came next morning to complain of a broken head.
After Inenge we were in for a bad part of the journey, and
great labour. Trembling with ague, with swimming heads, ears deafened by weakness, and limbs that would hardly support us, we contemplated with horrid despair the apparently perpendicular path up which we and our starving asses were about to toil.
On September 10th we hardened our hearts and began to breast the Pass Terrible. After rounding in two places wall-like sheets of rock and crossing a bushy slope, we faced a long steep of loose white soil and rolling stones, up which we could see the porters swarming more like baboons than human beings, and the asses falling every few yards. As we moved slowly and painfully forward, compelled to lie down by cough, thirst, and fatigue, the sayhah, or war-cry, rang loud from hill to hill, and Indian files of archers and spearmen streamed like lines of black ants in all directions down the paths. The predatory Wahumba, awaiting the caravan’s departure, had seized the opportunity of driving the cattle and plundering the village of Inenge.
By resting every few yards, we reached, after about six hours, the summit of the Pass Terrible, and here we sat down amongst aromatic flowers and pretty shrubs to recover strength and breath.
On September 14th, our health much improved by the weather, we left the hilltop and began to descend the counterslope of the Usagara Mountains. For the first time since many days I had strength enough to muster the porters and inspect their loads. The outfit which had been expected to last a year had been exhausted within three months. I summoned Said bin Salim, and told him my anxiety. Like a veritable Arab, he declared we had enough to last until we reached Unyamyembe, where we should certainly be joined by reinforcements of porters.
“How do you know?” I inquired.
“Allah is all-knowing,” said Said. “The caravan will come.”
As the fatalism was infectious, I ceased to think upon the subject.
The next day we sighted the plateau of Ugogo and its eastern desert. The spectacle was truly impressive. The first aspect was stern and wild – the rough nurse of rugged men. We went on the descent from day to day until September 18th, when a final march of four hours placed us on the plains of Ugogo. Before noon I sighted from a sharp turn in the bed of a river our tent pitched under a huge sycamore, on a level step. It was a pretty spot in the barren scene, grassy, and grown with green mimosas, and here we halted for a while. The second stage of our journey was accomplished.