Chapter XII: A Move to Maraṅu.24

The people of Taveita were glad to welcome me once more to their midst, and after the first few days, spent in rapidly building houses to store my goods, and huts for my followers—from which efforts a small town ultimately arose—I prepared to smooth the way by negotiations for a peaceful ascent of Kilima-njaro. The chief of Maraṅu, a largish state (a little bigger than Middlesex) on the south-eastern flank of the great mountain, had latterly sent emissaries to Taveita, to question the people of the forest sanctuary as to my real character and disposition. News of my disputes with Mandara had reached him, and he thought, perhaps, he might oust that chief in my good graces, and get me all to himself with my (supposed) illimitable wealth, and my wonderful powers of sorcery. I met his advances enthusiastically—perhaps _too_ enthusiastically, because it at first roused suspicion as to my real motives in entering Maraṅu—and sent to say, by Taveitan intermediaries, that I should be very happy to make peace. I invited, moreover, all the different chieftains of Kilima-njaro to send delegates to Taveita, where we might discuss our differences on neutral ground. The hope was in me that now being duly supported by a well-equipped band of followers, and residing on my own land, I might act as the peaceful arbiter of Kilima-njaro, might show its foolish people that their quarrels were only to the advantage of the Arab slave-traders, and induce them to band together in a friendly confederation to resist the common enemy. My proposal for a conference was well received. Representatives from Kibôšo, Mamba, Mwika, Kirua, Useri, came to Taveita. I had also sent a letter to Mandara, explaining my object and inviting him to co-operate, but no immediate answer was given, nor did he send any delegate to attend our conference. The naked ambassadors of the different states I have mentioned were all of one opinion. “Make friends with Maraṅu, and you are friends with all of us. As to forming a league with Mandara against the coast people, perhaps we will see—later; but it is Mandara who must first make amends; it is he who has for years past robbed, enslaved, and harried us. Did Maraṅu ever fight with Kibôšo, or Useri with Mamba and Mwika? Never! There would be peace on the mountain were it not for Mandara. He began the war—let him make proposals of peace. Where is his delegate to-day?”

I confess that having done my utmost I was not going to waste any more time in trying to restore peace in troubled Čaga. Politics I only meddled with inasmuch as they were contingent on the prosecution of my scientific mission. As Mandara abstained from following my pacific suggestions, all that remained to me was to make friends as speedily as possible with Maraṅu—not for the pleasure of its chief’s acquaintance, or for interest in its welfare, but in order to reside in the upper regions in peace and quiet—and then proceed at once to the borders of the snow, and make up for lost time by collecting as busily as possible. Had the mission of pacifying and regenerating the states of Kilima-njaro been confided to me I would have thrown my whole heart into it, and might perhaps have done some real good, but it was not for that end that I had received my grants from the Royal Society and the British Association. They wanted plants and birds and beetles, not assurances that certain obscure communities of savages in Central Africa had been induced to abstain for a few months from killing and enslaving one another. What would they say, when my six months’ residence on Kilima-njaro was over, and I presented myself to their committee, and said, “Oh, I am sorry to inform you I found the state of affairs in the Čaga commonwealth so disorganized, that I set myself to work to restore peace and prosperity, and this took up so much time that I wasn’t able to collect”?

No, so anxious was I to effect the purpose for which I had come to Eastern Africa, that I often, when worried by all these intrigues, could find nothing more fitting to exclaim than “Bother your quarrels and your wrongs, let me get to the snow.” Sometimes I longed for giant bombs containing carbonic acid gas, that I might explode them on the mountain, and painlessly asphyxiate its troublesome inhabitants. But as this was out of the question, the only plan I could think of was to make friends with Mandara’s enemies, whether Mandara liked it or not. Accordingly, after the little conference referred to, I despatched a mission to Maraṅu with handsome presents for its chief, and a warm acceptance of his peaceful overtures. Kiongwe, who had a pleasant manner and knew a little Ki-čaga, undertook this rather risky errand. Arrived in the vicinity of the king’s residence he was long kept waiting outside, because the timid young sovereign was afraid of being bewitched by the white man’s emissary. The people of Maraṅu, no less than their chief, still feared treachery on my part. They dreaded lest all these peaceful overtures might not be a cunning means of penetrating the country and then attacking it unawares, in league with the dreaded Mandara. So as they still hesitated between accepting or rejecting my proposals they resolved to ascertain the true character of my mission by a potent test. A goat was brought before the young chief, and made to swallow a poisonous drug. “Now,” said the Sultan of Maraṅu to the smiling but secretly uneasy Kiongwe, “if the goat dies I shall know that your heart is black and your mission deceitful, and I will kill you, that your master may see how I hate a lie; but if the goat lives, good; I shall then be convinced you have spoken the truth, and your master really wishes to be my friend.” After a short period of suspense the goat began to retch violently, and finally vomited the noxious dose, then it shivered a little, shook itself, bleated, and began to browse. A loud burst of delighted acclamation greeted this favourable outcome of the ordeal, and Kiongwe was relatively safe. His moral sifting was not altogether finished, however; he must submit to a further trial. The queen-dowager, who was reputed a regular witch or wizard-finder, took him by both hands and gazed earnestly into his eyes. If his look should flinch or turn aside, then was his heart black and treacherous. So far from flinching, however, he glared at the queen-mother for his very life, and it was she who first blinked; consequently, this last _épreuve_ had terminated in his favour, and further whoops and yells of hysterical joy rent the air. Then sending for the fattest ram in his dominions, the chief of Maraṅu dismissed Kiongwe with this characteristic present, and bade him assure me that he and his subjects anxiously awaited the happy day when I and my people would enter and build in their country.

On the day following Kiongwe’s return a curious occurrence, savouring of poetical justice, took place. One of my men informed me, early in the morning, that in another part of Taveita the renegades of our expedition, Mabruki and Athmani, had passed the night on their way to the coast, whither they were convoying a band of slaves. (The reader may remember that these two men had deserted from me during my first trials in Moši, and had gone to live with Mandara to organize his slave-trade.) At first I concluded that the information was of little value, as they would be certain to rise with the dawn and pursue their road, and I regretted bitterly that the news had reached me too late to cause an effective intervention. But further reflection showed the possibility that Mabruki and his confederate might still be within reach. The body of the caravan would have quitted Taveita at dawn, but the two ex-collectors, occupying now the position of independent traders, and being no longer subservient to commands, might possibly linger behind for an extra hour of sleep or to buy provisions for the day. At any rate I resolved to see if I could catch them and release any of their unfortunate slaves. Accordingly, assembling my followers round me, in case there should be an appeal to force, we marched swiftly and silently down to the camping-place indicated by my informer, and there had the great joy to catch Mabruki and Athmani lying on the turf, half dozing, with four slaves—three women and a boy—fastened round the trunk of a tree, in whose grateful shade the renegades reposed. As I told my men in a loud voice to cut the ropes which bound the slaves (the poor creatures had their heads inserted in a kind of wooden pillory, which was tied to the tree-trunk), Mabruki and Athmani started up in amazed anger, and the former seized his gun as if meaning to shoot me, but I suppose a glance at my well-armed followers made him refrain, so he broke out into angry abuse instead. “Look here, Mabruki,” I said, “if you talk like that I will have you tied to this tree and soundly thrashed. You are subjects of the Sayyid of Zanzibar, and as such forbidden to trade in slaves. I have a perfect right to free these people, and, what is more, if I carried out my duty I should put you in irons, and hand you over to justice when I reach Zanzibar; but as I am going back to Kilima-njaro that is not convenient, so I let you go free for once, knowing that sooner or later punishment will overtake you.” He changed his tone, and fawned on me, and assured me that the slaves were not his, but Mandara’s, and in taking them I should make Mandara my bitter enemy; but I paid no attention, and carried off the slaves to my town. When we had reached this place I questioned them, and found they were people of Maraṅu captured by Mandara in war, and sold cheap to Mabruki, who was taking them to the coast to sell on his own account, together with a large number of other slaves which he was to dispose of for Mandara. These latter had left Taveita, under the charge of one of Mandara’s Swahilis, by early dawn, and Mabruki, who was the leader of the caravan, was to have rejoined them by midday. Having learnt this, I ordered the fetters of the slaves to be struck off, and told them they were now free to go whithersoever they willed, but that if they feared to fall again into the hands of their captors they might wait till the morrow, and accompany my caravan to Maraṅu. This proposal they gladly accepted, and when the fact was fully realized that their liberty was given back to them and that they would soon be restored to their mountain home—for these Čaga people are like the Swiss of old, passionately attached to their native peaks and valleys—they burst into exclamations of delight, calling me “Ndofu”—elephant—and “Great Chief,” and “Father,” and, what was less agreeable, crawling to my feet after the manner of their people and spitting on me continually, to manifest the esteem in which I was held. Mabruki and Athmani returned to Mandara’s, vowing they would come back with a big army to avenge their loss. But I knew it was a vain threat, so I left my little town with but a small garrison, and started for Kilima-njaro with a band of over forty men, some carrying loads and others acting as guards, for we were not too sure that enemies might not rise up somewhere to contest our progress, and I was resolved this time to attain my end by force if necessary.

The country of Maraṅu was reached after one day’s long walk. Its southern frontier was a very remarkable one, and formed a barrier seemingly impossible to cross in the teeth of armed opposition. An impetuous stream flowing between precipitous walls of rock separated Maraṅu from the outer wilderness. When we arrived on the brink of this ravine and looked across to the opposite side, transit seemed a feat for birds alone; but under the guidance and with the help of the Wa-maraṅu, who had come to meet us, we managed to cross this strange gulf. We were first of all let down a sheer wall of rock twenty feet in height, clinging to the stout ropes of creepers, and then received in the arms of stalwart natives, who were standing thigh-deep in the rushing water at the base of the cliff. Two men carried me over to the opposite shore, oppressed, not with my weight, but by the force of the current, which threatened to make them lose their footing and wash us all away. Fortunately on the further side the cliff was not so precipitous, and afforded a few feet of landing. Here I paused to watch the safe descent of my men and goods down the opposite wall of cliff into the water, and, when all were fairly over their difficulties, I began to scale the bank behind me, and was able to reach its summit unaided otherwise than by the friendly branches which the cresting woodland stretched towards me. Then, when the climb was over, I found myself surrounded by silent natives, well armed, but quite friendly, and by their directions I continued my upward journey along a narrow slippery path until I arrived at the gate of the town.

This perhaps is an incorrect phrase. It is rather the gate of the country than of the town. Throughout Čaga, by which is meant the inhabited district of Kilima-njaro, there is no such thing as a congeries of habitations forming a town or village in our sense of the word. Each family lives apart with its own two or three houses for men, women, and beasts, surrounded by its plantations and gardens, with plenty of room for expansion all round. In another sense, however, each separate state of Čaga may be looked upon as a huge straggling city, one vast capital of huts and gardens, equally inhabited and cultivated throughout its extent. This little territory is more or less completely surrounded by natural defences—indeed the girdle of ravines and cliffs has formed the state by giving security to its inhabitants—but there is almost always one easy means of approach which has been left open by Nature, and that is, therefore, strongly fortified by man. Consequently nearly all these tiny Čaga kingdoms have their “door” of entry, which is at all times strongly guarded, and often serves as a pretext for toll. In my case, however, as an honoured guest of the chief, I was not asked for any “gate-money,” and the guards on the farther side of the barrier invited me cordially to enter freely. This, in spite of goodwill on their part, was not easy of accomplishment. The opening through which I was expected to pass was a narrow delta-like slit or tunnel about three feet high, three feet broad, and six feet long. Through this I had to wriggle awkwardly, and consequently entered Maraṅu in the attitude of the Enemy of our race when punished for the fall of man. However, as this entailed no humiliation in the natives’ eyes, and as prince and peasant quitted and entered their precincts in the same manner, I took it very good-humouredly, picked myself up, dusted my habiliments and smiled beamingly on all around. The smile was returned with many a broad grin, but as yet no word of greeting passed their lips. They simply sat on their haunches and stared at me. None of them, except two or three who had acted as my guides, had ever seen a white man before, and they wanted to examine the marvel visually before expending their energies in talk. However, I was not so taciturn, but addressed a few friendly words in Ki-čaga to the foremost men. A shout of surprise went up, “Amanya mateta haru!” (He knows our language!) they cried, and we were friends at once. I could not help feeling how satisfactory this was. Here there were perhaps 400 savages assembled, all of them armed—in short, most of the fighting-men of the country were present, and about 200 of them provided—strange incongruity!—with Government Sniders. These had recently been obtained from a Swahili trader who had bought rifles from Thomson’s men and other discharged expeditions on the coast, and had exchanged them in Maraṅu for ivory. Bravely as my forty followers might have fought, we should inevitably have been massacred to a man in these rocky defiles had the natives chosen to revenge on us their old quarrels with Mandara, in which, until recently, I had been thought to bear an active part. Fortunately they had no such evil intentions, and I felt such confidence in the naïve wonder and awe with which I was regarded that I walked about unarmed, and allowed my men to disperse in all directions. I inquired for the Sultan, but I was told that he had gone on a visit to his uncle of Kibôšo, and would not return until the next day. His brother, however, a proud-looking, handsome boy, with an ancient Egyptian cast of features and light complexion, was pointed out to me, and I asked him to show me a place wherein we might camp, as night was approaching. He set a soldier to lead the way, and we walked upwards for about half an hour, finally settling on a village-green—a smooth expanse of turf, intersected by a stream of running water. The Sultan’s mother, a woman of middle age, came to greet us, and brought the welcome present of a large fat goat, which was immediately killed, cut up and distributed among my hungry followers, a nice loin-chop and kidneys being cooked for me.

The next morning the worthy mother of the reigning chief sent me a bowl of delicious fresh milk, and I received also many visits on the part of the local notables, but had to dismiss them while my toilet was being performed, though this brought little privacy, as many shoved their heads under the skirting of the tent and watched me take my bath with intense interest. As soon as I had dressed I set the men to work to cut branches and make a necessary fence round the tent and kitchen—otherwise the crowd of natives would have invaded every corner. Then I went on my walks abroad to see Maraṅu in the fresh morning air, and pay various visits of ceremony. First, I repaired to the Sultan’s mother to thank her heartily for sending gifts of meat and milk. This lady received me in a spacious compound under a kind of open shed, with seats placed all round, and a handsome white ox-hide neatly stretched over the floor within. The Sultan’s mother took me by both hands, and looked hard into my eyes. This ordeal I was instructed (_sotto voce_ by Kiongwe) to bear without flinching, and on no account to avoid the Sultana’s gaze. Consequently I glared at her so fixedly that she was forced to lower her eyes, upon which she turned to her attendants and declared she approved of me thoroughly. Then I was desired to seat myself by her side on the white ox-skin. I did so. A brief and embarrassed silence followed, broken by the queen-mother, who expressed to Kiongwe somewhat hesitatingly that she greatly desired to see the colour of my legs. On hearing the request I had first thought to dissuade her by explaining what a tedious process it would be to unlace and take off my long shooting-boots, but, seeing she was seriously disappointed, I consented so far as to pull up my knee-breeches and disclose the upper part of my shin. Loud were the cries from the many lookers-on, and deep the admiration of the Sultan’s mother at the sight of flesh so white. “It looks like cloth which has been washed with soap from the coast,” she said, and then added, with considerable acumen, “I know why his skin is so pale; he always keeps it covered. _We_ show everything to the sun,” which was strictly true, for not only the queen-mother, but most of the ladies of this African court were really as devoid of apparel as could well be, the only attempt at a covering being collars of beads and iron bracelets. After this we went in a long procession to the Sultan’s residence, the owner being temporarily absent. Here there was much more constructive art displayed than at Moši. First a solid wall or _enceinte_ of stones; then the divisions of the minor spaces formed by neat—extremely neat—hedges of well-trimmed dracæna, and, lastly, stout fences of large planks, constructed to divide and shut off the various compartments of the Sultan’s rather _al fresco_ residence. These planks had not been sawn, but simply split first and then planed by gentle chopping with a small axe until the thickness was about equal. The boards were fastened together by holes drilled in the side and stout bands of leather cord passed through and through.

I extracted the following information from the queen-mother as to the hereditary laws in this part of Čaga. It is not the eldest son who succeeds his father as the ruling chief, nor the youngest, but usually the second or third, because this fortunately placed individual generally, for reasons too complicated to be here explained, acquires the greater portion of his sire’s wealth, and is chosen to succeed him by the elders of the nation as one likely to be munificent. Somiriali, the present Sultan of Maraṅu, is quite a young man, and has fifty wives.

On the third day of my stay in his country the Sultan returned from his expedition, and I went to see him early in the morning. After waiting some minutes in a crowd of soldiers and women, a thin, mean-looking youth at length appeared, and advanced somewhat timidly towards me. He took my hand, and I shook his vigorously. Then there was an awkward pause, and after smiling vaguely at one another, Mauki, one of the Sultan’s men, called to me from the crowd that I had better withdraw and see the Sultan afterwards in his house. Accordingly later on I repaired to the chief’s residence, and there saw him sitting in a close, pokey little compartment, his sleeping-chamber, in fidgety expectation of his presents. He looked on restlessly while the tin box was opened, and, as each fresh thing appeared, he asked, “What else? What else?” The musical-box he somewhat appreciated, and turned its handle by jerks. The cloth and beads were hardly looked at, and the coloured pictures which had so delighted the æsthetic Mandara were received with suspicion and distrust, as savouring somewhat of magic. After many words and fine promises, all of which had little effect on the dissipated youth, who was more concerned about the parasites that infested his person than about the advantages to be derived from the white man’s friendship, we withdrew and took our leave; but, shortly afterwards, the Sultan followed on my footsteps, and appeared in the camp just as I was sitting down to a quiet breakfast. I began to hate him, especially as he entered my tidy tent and sat down in his greasy paint and dirt on my clean bed. Now commenced my difficulties. I wanted, in reality, merely to pass through this man’s country and obtain guides for the higher regions, and wished his people to accompany me for the further reason that they would be able to explain to the warlike Wa-kibôšo, with whom they were allied, the change in my position, and how I had made friends with their chief of Maraṅu, who was one of the principal leaders in the coalition against Mandara.

The chief, however, looked on my arrival in his country as an excellent opportunity for extortion; and, moreover, wanted me to live permanently at his court, so that my stream of wealth might flow into his coffers rather than his neighbours’. So it was I had to intrigue a little with the Sultan of Maraṅu as to my ultimate intention of returning to Taveita, and promise anything so that he should remain in good-humour, and give me guides, and let me go to the snow-peaks. Therefore I was obliged to control my repugnance at his filthy presence, and smile sweetly at his inquisitive pryings into my private boxes. At one time he suddenly seized my loaded revolver, hanging up from the tent-post, and, before I could stop him, fired off every cartridge in it at random, fortunately hitting nobody, but only missing my own person by a fluke. Then he would take my greatcoat and try it on, and indeed endeavoured to walk off with it, until forcibly detained. At length he calmed down, and proceeded to formulate his demands, which he desired me to forward by special messenger to Sir John Kirk, at Zanzibar, hinting that I should be held a hostage until the goods arrived. I stipulated that meanwhile he should send me up the mountain. He consented, and then I allowed him to give the wildest scope to his covetous imagination. “See,” he said, “I want you to give me this bed” (patting my tidy, clean white couch). “Very well,” I replied, “when I come back from the mountain.” “And this chair?” “Yes, and the chair, too.” “Very well, now take karatassi (paper), and write down all the things I want the Baloza (Sir John Kirk) to send me from the coast.” (I got out a sheet of note-paper and a pencil, and affected to write.) “First, I want thirty barrels of powder.” “Yes,” I answered with sweet compliance, and wrote busily. “Next, 100 bunduki Sna-ider (Snider rifles), and 100 bunduki za fataki (muzzle-loading guns), and 1000 viassi (cartridges), for the bunduki Sna-ider, and a big ‘kinanda’ (concertina) like the Arabs have, and a little box like this (my desk), and a table and a house of cloth (tent), and thirty loads of big red beads, and thirty loads of fine blue beads, and fifty loads of Merikani, and soruali (trousers—a palpable want), &c.” Here he paused to think of some fresh item, and Kiongwe, enraged at his rapacity, could no longer restrain his feelings, so he said to me, in broken English, “This man plenty devilly.” The Sultan pricked up his ears, and asked suspiciously, “Eh, what? Kitu gani devilly?” (What sort of thing is “devilly”?) “Oh,” I replied, with much presence of mind, “a sort of coat like this,” pointing to my jacket. “Very well, then,” he answered, “write down _two_ devilly.” I affected to do so, and then once more besought the Sultan that guides might be given me the next morning. As his greed was now appeased by these lavish promises he assented, and to my great relief, wrapped his unpleasant garment round him and left my tent.

Accordingly it was decided that the following day we should commence our second ascent of Kilima-njaro.

Fig. 54.—Kibô Cloud-capped.
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