Chapter XII: Preparations for Departure

‘The port of Zanzibar has little or no trade; that to Bombay consists of a little gum and ivory, brought from the mainland, with a few cloves, the only produce of the island; and the import trade is chiefly dates, and cloth from Muscat, to make turbans. These things are sent in small country vessels, which make only one voyage a year. The trade is consequently very trifling.’—CAPT. HART, Commanding H. M. S. Imogene, 1834.

The dry season—and uncommonly dry it had been—was judged by all old hands unfit for travel, and I was strongly advised to defer exploration of the interior till after learning something of the coast. The Rev. Mr Erhardt’s Memoir on the Chart of Eastern and Central Africa, which threw into a huge uninterrupted Caspian half-a-dozen central lakes, and called it in the south Niandsha (Nyassa), in the north Ukerewe, and on the coast Niasa and Bahari ya Uniamési, had proposed a choice of three several routes. The first was through Dshaga (Chaga), and the lands of the Wamasai. It numbered 59 days, over level land, though studded with many isolated hills and mountains, and it traded to the Wanyamwezi, ‘of the race of Wazambiro,’ probably the Wafioma of the Usambíro district, near Karagwah. The middle caravan was reported to start ‘from Bagamoyo and Mboamaji to Uniamési.’ The general features of the country, the distances, and even the position of Ujiji, were remarkably well laid down. The ‘Stadt Ujiji,’ inhabited partly by Arabians, partly by Wahas (Wahhas), of course, did not exist: the saline stream of the Wapogo[123] and the people, whose teeth became yellow by drinking of another water, were evidently the creations of some lively negro’s fancy. The ‘third or southern caravan line,’ set out from Kilwa, and after 200 miles struck the ‘Niasa or Niandsha’ Lake. In this section the distances were miscalculated, and except the Wafipa and the Wabembe, the tribes were incorrectly named and placed.

In his plan for exploring the Great Lake, and laid before the Royal Geographical Society in 1854, M. Erhardt proposed to land at Kilwa, where he had touched with Dr Krapf; to collect a party of Wasawahili, and with an outfit of $300 to march into the continent. This might have been feasible in 1854; it was impossible in 1856. The sum mentioned was inadequate; the missionaries had spent as much upon a fortnight’s march from Pangani to Fuga. Slaves are the only porters of the land, and the death of Sayyid Said had then made the coast Arabs and the Mrima people about Kilwa almost independent of Zanzibar. My directions from home were to follow, if possible, this line; Lieut. Christopher, I. N., however, who visited the coast in 1843, more wisely advised explorers to avoid the neighbourhood of Kilwa. Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, moreover, strongly objected to our landing anywhere but under the guns of Zanzibar, as it were. He informed me that the Wangindo, a tribe settled behind Kilwa, had lately murdered a native trader, at the instigation of those settled on the coast; and that nothing less than a ship of war stationed at the port would open the road to a ‘Muzungu’ (white man).

The Consul had also warned me that my inquiries into the country trade, and the practice of writing down answers—without which, however, no report could have been compiled—were exciting ill will. The short- sighted traders dreaded, like Orientals, that competition might result from our discoveries, and their brains were too dull to perceive that the development of the resources of the interior would benefit all those connected with the coast. Houses that had amassed in a few years large fortunes by the Zanzibar trade, were exceedingly anxious to ‘let sleeping dogs lie.’ As far as dinners and similar hospitality, the white merchants resident on the Island received us with the usual African profuseness. There were, of course, honourable exceptions: I have especially mentioned Captain Mansfield, Mr Masury, and M. Bérard; but not a few—exempla sunt odiosa—spread reports amongst the natives, Banyans, Arabs, and Wasawahili, which were very likely to secure for us the disastrous fate of M. Maizan. Captain Speke, who subsequently ignored this fact, threatened to throw one of the ‘first houses’ out of the window; and Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton declared that unless more discretion in spreading evil reports were shown he would withdraw British protection from another well-known firm. The son of a Hamburg merchant had written to his father for leave to supply us with sums to be recovered from the Royal Geographical Society. When informed of this peculiar kindness I inquired the object, and the answer was that, intending himself to visit India, he wished to prepare his father for the expense of travel in the East. Certainly knowing all these intrigues, I see no reason why they should not be published.

The Arabs were as much alarmed at the prospect of opening up the African interior as were the foreign merchants; they knew that Europeans had long coveted a settlement upon the sea-board, and they had no wish to lose the monopoly of the copal coast and the ivory-lands. Nothing indeed would be easier, I repeat, for a European power than to establish itself upon the mainland; and if it followed the wise example of the early Portuguese, who limited their possessions to the principal ports and to the great centres of trade, it would soon monopolize an enriching traffic. With respect to copal, and to the articles most in demand, our commercial relations with Zanzibar might be altered for the benefit of both contracting parties. It is at present an unnatural, exclusive system, a monopoly claiming advantages of which it will not, or cannot, avail itself. But all steps in these matters must be taken by the Home Governments; the petty jealousies of rival powers here render all local interference unadvisable.

At length the Kazi Muhiyy el Din, the ‘celestial doctor’ of the Wasawahili, was detailed by the curious to investigate the subject, and to represent the terrors of the public. He retired, satisfied that our plans were not of conquest. The Arab chiefs pressed Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton to swear upon the ‘Kalmat Ullah’ that the expedition was to be conducted only by English officers, upon whose good-will they could rely; that it was not a proselytizing movement of the Wanajuoni (sons of the book, missionaries), and that it would not be accompanied by ‘Dutchmen,’ as certain gentleman from Germany were called by the Zanzibaris.[124] Had the Consul hesitated to satisfy them, the course of events is clear to all who know the Eastern man. The surface of Arab civility would have run unruffled, but the undertow would have carried us off our legs.

Persuaded at last by the earnestness of our energetic supporter, the Sayyid Sulayman bin Hamid bin Said—a noble Omani never neglects the name of his grandsire—came forward in our favour. This aged chief, a cousin of the late Sayyid, rejoiced in the nickname of Bahari Maziwa (Sea of Milk), the Ethiopic equivalent for ‘soft-sawder.’ He had governed Zanzibar during the minority of Sayyid Khalid, who died in 1854, and his influence was strong upon the sea-board. He gave us his good word in sundry circulars, to which the Prince Majid added others, addressed to Kimwere, Sultan of Usumbara; to the Diwans or Wasawahili head-men, and to the Baloch Jemadars, commanding the several garrisons. On the other hand, Ladha Damha of Mandavie, the Banyan Collector of Customs, provided me with orders upon the Hindu coast-merchants, to raise the requisite moneys, without which our reception would have been of the coolest. The horizon now began to clear, and even to look bright, as it generally will when the explorer has time and patience to await the change of weather.

If we travellers in transit had reason to be proud of our countryman’s influence at Zanzibar, the resident foreigners should have been truly thankful for it. When Lieut-Colonel Hamerton first made this Island his head-quarters (1841), he found that for nine years it had not been visited by a British cruiser, and that interested reports had been spread, representing us to be no longer masters of the Indian Seas. Slavery was everywhere rampant. Bozals, green or wild slaves, here called Baghams (بغم), were thrown overboard when sick, to avoid paying duty; and the sea-beach of the city, which acts Marine Parade, as well as the plantations, presented horrible spectacles of dogs and birds of prey devouring swollen and spotted human carcases—the remnants of ‘slaves that never prayed.’[125] The Consul’s representations were listened to by Sayyid Said, who, through virtue of certain dry floggings and confiscations of property, à la Mohammed Ali, instilled into the slave-owners some semblance of humanity.

Negro insolence was dealt with as summarily. The Arabs had persuaded the Wasawahili, and even the Creoles, that a white man is a being below contempt, and the ‘poor African’ eagerly carried out the theory. Only 17 years have elapsed (1857) since a certain trading-consul, Mr W—, in consular hat and sword, was horsed upon a servile back, and was solemnly ‘bakur’d,’ in his own consular house, under his own consular flag. This occurrence was afterwards denied by the best of all authorities, the gentleman who told the tale: I have, however, every reason to believe it. A Msawahili would at any time enter the merchant’s office, dispose his sandaled or bare feet upon the table or the bureau, call for cognac, and, if refused, draw his dagger. Impudent fishermen would anchor their craft below the windows of the British Consulate, and, clinging to the mast-top, enjoy with derision the spectacle of feeding Kafirs. The Arabs jostled strangers in the streets, drove them from the centre, and compelled them to pass by the wall. At night no one dared to carry a lantern, which would inevitably have been knocked out of his hand; and a promenade in the dark usually caused insults, sometimes a bastinado. To such a pitch rose contempt for the ‘Faranj,’ that even the ‘mild Hindus,’—our ‘fellow-subjects’ from Cutch and other parts of Western India,—could not preserve with a European the semblance of civility.

Time was required to uproot an evil made inveterate, as in Japan, by mercantile tameness, and by the precept quocunque modo rem. Patience, the Sayyid’s increasing good-will, and at times a rough measure which brought the negro man to a ‘sense of his duty,’ were at last successful, and the result now is that the Englishman is better received here than at any of our Presidencies. The change is wholly the work of Lieut.- Colonel Hamerton, who, in the strenuous and unremitting discharge of his duties, has lost youth, strength, and health. The iron constitution of this valuable public servant—I have quoted merely one specimen of his worth—has been undermined by the terrible fever, and at fifty his head bears the ‘blossoms of the grave,’ as though it had seen its seventieth summer.

Before we could set out a guide, a Mahmandar a Cafilah-báshí or Kirangozi, was requisite, and this necessary was soon provided by the ‘Sea of Milk.’ Saíd bin Sálim el Lamki, the companion of our way for many a weary league, must not depart this life unsketched. He is a half- caste Arab, as is shown by the wiry, woolly hair, which he generally, however, removes with care; by his dead yellow skin; by scanty mustachios, and by a heard which no pulling will lengthen. Short, thin, and delicate; a kind of man for the pocket; with weak and prominent eyes, the long protruding beak of a young bird, loose lips, and regular teeth dyed by betel to the crimson of chess-men, he owns to 40, and he shows 45. Of noble family on the father’s side, the Benu Lamk of the Hináwi, he was born when his progenitor governed Kilwa, hence his African blood; and he has himself commanded at the little port Sa’adani. Yet has not dignity invested him with the outer show of authority. He says ‘Karrib,’—draw near!—to all, simple and gentle. He cannot beat his naughty bondsmen, though he perpetually quotes Ali the Khalifeh—

‘Buy not the slave but with staff and sword;
Or the lord will slave, and the slave will lord.’

I have heard, him address, with ‘rotund mouth,’ his small boy Faraj, a demon of impudence; yet he is mostly ashamed to scold. This results from his extreme timidity and nervousness. He never appears abroad without the longest of daggers and a two-handed blade fit for Richard of England. He will sleep in an oven rather than open the door when a leopard has been talked of: on board ship he groans like a colicky patient at every ‘lop,’ and a shipped sea brings from his lips the involuntary squeak of mortal agony. In the hour of perfect safety he has a certain quietness of manner and mildly valorous talk which are exceedingly likely to impose. He cannot bear hunger or thirst, fatigue or want of sleep, and until Fate threw him in our way he probably never walked a single consecutive mile. Though owner of a wife, and of three quasi wives, he had been refused by Allah the gift of issue and increase. Possibly the glad tidings that a slave girl was likely to make him a father—he swore that, if a boy, Abdullah should be his name— suddenly communicated to him on his return from our first cruise, caused him to judge my companionship canny, and once more to link his destiny with ours.

Saíd bin Sálim is a Bayázi of the Kháriji schism. He prays regularly; fasts uncompromisingly; he chews but will not smoke tobacco; he never casts away a date-stone; and he ‘sips water’ but ‘swills milk’ as the Moslem saying directs. His mother tongue is the Kisawahili: he speaks, however, the grotesque Arabic of Oman, and sometimes, to display his mastery of the humanities, he mixes hashed Koran and terminating vowels with Maskat ‘baragouinage,’ Paradise Lost and Thieves’ Latin. He has read syntax; he writes a pretty hand; he is great at epistles, and he loves to garnish discourse with saw and song. When in the ‘doldrums’ he will exclaim—

‘The grave’s the gate all flesh must pass—
Ah! would I knew what lies behind.’

I have heard him crooning for long hours—

‘The knowledge of this nether world,
Say, friend, what is it?—false or true?
The false, what mortal cares to know?—
The true, what mortal ever knew?’

Sometimes he will break out into rather a ‘fast’ strain, e. g.—

‘At Meccah I saw a lass selling perfume,
She put forth a hand, and I cried, “O sweet!”
(Three sniffs, crescendo.)
She leant over me, casting a glance of love,
But from Meccah I sped, saying, “Farewell, sweet!”’
(Three Kafir clicks, diminuendo, signifying ‘No go.’)

The reader will ask what induced me to take a guide apparently so little fit for rough and ready work? In the first place, the presence of Saíd bin Sálim el Lamki, el Hináwi, was a pledge of our utter ‘respectability,’ and as a court spy, he could report that we were not malignants. Moreover, he was well known upon the coast, and he had a knowledge-box filled with local details, which he imparted without churlishness. During the first trip I found him full of excellent gifts, courteous, thoroughly good-tempered, and apparently truthful, honest, and honourable—a bright exception to the rule of his unconscientious race. When I offered him the task he replied, ‘Verily, whoso benefiteth the beneficent becometh his lord; but the vile, when well treated, will turn and rend thee.’ I almost hoped that he would not disappoint me in the end; but the delays, the dangers, and the hardships of the second journey proved too much for Saíd bin Sálim. The thin outer varnish disappeared from the man, and the material below was not inviting. The Maskat Arab, especially the half-caste, easily becomes the Bedáwi, the Ishmael, the Orson. These people have rarely any ‘stay’ in them; they are charming only as long as things run smooth, and after once showing true colours, they care not to conceal them. Arabs, however, are not the only handsome shoes that badly pinch. How often would fellow-travellers have avoided one another like fire, had they been able to see a trifle below the surface! Saíd bin Sálim, offended by certain remarks in my Lake Regions of Central Africa (passim), and wishing to ‘prove his character for honour and honesty,’ persuaded Capt. Speke to give him another chance, and began by telling a gross falsehood, which Capt. Speke at once believed. He accompanied the second East African expedition: he played his usual slavish tricks, and he had to be ‘dropped,’ utterly useless, at Kazeh, with the Arabs.

I had engaged at Bombay two Portuguese boys, Valentino Rodrigues and Caetano Andrade, who resolved that what Sahib Log could endure, that same could they. Having described them once there is no object in saying further of them, except that they were, despite all deficiencies, a great comfort to us; and that they proved themselves, in the long run, better men than the Arab. Taking no interest in ‘African exploration,’ and desirous of seeing only the end of the expedition, they must, poor fellows, have yearned sadly for home, even Goa; and I am rejoiced to think that they both reached it alive.

The outfit and expenses of an African journey are always interesting to travellers. For the personnel, we expended in two months a total of $172 ($50 to Said, and $20 per mens. to the two Goanese), including $32 for ship hire, and the inevitable ‘Bakhshish’ which accompanies it. As presents to the native chiefs who might entertain us, we took 20 Jamdanis, or sprigged muslin, for turbans ($15); a score of embroidered Surat caps (Alfiyyah = $17.50); a broad-cloth coat and a Maskat Sabai, or loin-cloth of silk, cotton, and gold thread ($20.50) for the Sultan Kimwere; two gaudy cotton shawls, yellow and scarlet ($2.50), and 35 lbs. of small white-and-pink Venetian beads ($14). This item amounted to $69.50. I made the mistake of ignorance by not laying in an ample store of American domestics (Merkani), the silver of the country, and a greater quantity of beads, which are the small change. About $250 represented the expenses of living and travelling ($94 in January, and in February $84): this included the expenditure of the whole party. The provisions were, rice (three bags), maize flour (one barrel), dates (one bag), sugar and coffee (each 20 lbs.), salt, pepper, onions, and curry stuff, oil and clarified butter, snuff and tobacco. Of course soap and candles were not forgotten, and we had a small but necessary supply of cords for baggage—these, however, soon followed the way of our knives. The several items form a grand total of $480, equal to about £50 per mensem. I must observe, however, that we travelled in humble guise, hired poor vessels, walked the whole way, and otherwise practised a somewhat rigid economy.

Ladha Damha, who had provided us with these necessaries, also hired for the coasting cruise an old Arab Beden, or ‘Awaysiyeh’ (foyst) called the Riámi. She was a fine specimen of her class; old and rotten, the boards and timbers of the deck were breaking up; the tanks were represented by a few Girbahs, or empty skins; the sails were in rags; the ropes and cables broke every half-hour, and the awning leaked like a cheap waterproof, despite bits of cotton rudely caulked in. Ants effected lodgment in our instrument cases, cockroaches dropped upon us all day, and the rats made marriage, as Saíd said, during the live-long night. The crew was picked up out of the bazar: one was a tailor, a second stuttered unintelligibly, a third was maimed and purblind, a fourth was sick, and a fifth, the Chelebi (fop) of the party, was a malingerer, who could do nothing but shave, pluck his eyebrows, and contemplate a flat face in the glass. The only man on board was old Ráshid, a scion of that Súrí race, the self-styled descendants of the Syrians, well-known for beggary and niggardness, for kidnapping and safe piracy. They are the most uncourteous of the Arabs; and while ever demanding Hishmah (respect) for themselves, they forget their own proverb, ‘Politeness has two heads,’ and they will on no occasion accord it to others. Ráshid, however, proved a hero and a treasure, by the side of our Nakhoda Hamid, a Saudawi or melancholist of the most approved type—never was brain of goose or heart of hen-partridge hidden by brow so broad and intellectual; never did liver of milk wear so Herculean a beard! He squats upon the deck screaming and abusing his men; now silent and surly, then answering every question with El ’ilm ’ind Allah (God knows!), and in danger he weeps bitterly. With such fellows the only system is to be as distant as possible: the least familiarity ends badly; they will hate you more for one cross word than love you for a thousand favours. The civility of a pipe or a glass of sherbet infallibly spoils them: they respect only the man who tells them once a day that they are unworthy to eat with a Walad Amir (gentleman). They will call you proud; but that matters little, and if you pay them well they will speak of you accordingly.

On the evening of Sunday, Jan. 4, 1857, we bade a temporary farewell to our kind friend and host, Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, and transferred ourselves on board the Ríami, expecting to set out. Simple souls that we were! There was neither wood nor water on board, and our gallant captain lost no time in eclipsing himself. The north-east wind coursing through the clear sky was dead against us, but he pretended that the sailors had remained in the bazar. He came on board next morning, when we made sail and ran down to Mto-ni, there filling our skins with bad saltish water. Hamid again went ashore, promising to return in half an hour, and leaving us to spend the day in vain expectation. Said bin Salim solaced himself by wishing that the Shaytan might appear to Hamid on his death- bed and say, ‘O friend of my soul, welcome home!’ But when the truant came off, he was welcomed by the half-caste Arab with a cup of coffee and a proverb importing that out of woe cometh weal; this considerably diminished the effect of my flea in the ear and threat of the ‘bakur.’ Finally, after the loss of two nights and a day, we fished up our ground-tackle and began our journey. I afterwards learned that in this part of East Africa the traveller must ever be prepared for three distinct departures—the little start, the big start, and _the_ start.

Amongst our belongings was a life-boat which we determined to tow, and the trouble which it gave was endless. In consequence of a lecture delivered at the United Service Institution (May 2, 1856), by Major, now Sir Vincent, Eyre, of the Bengal Artillery, I wrote through him to Mr Joseph Francis, of New York, whose application of iron had taken the place of the old copper article in which Lieut. Lynch, of the United States navy, descended the Jordan rapids. The total length, 20 feet, was divided into seven sections, each weighing under 40 lbs. The pieces were so numbered that experienced men could put the thing together in one hour, and it was provided with rivets, bolts, nuts, and japanned waterproof awning. A flat keel and a cork fender were proposed by Major Eyre to the manufacturers, Messrs Marshall, Lefferts, and Co., and were rejected: the former would have offered greater hindrance to the joints, and the latter would have been only additional weight.

This life-boat, after being set up with some difficulty at Zanzibar, accompanied us on our trip northwards. The galvanized and corrugated iron, in longitudial furrows, like the roofing of railway stations, but only sixpence-thick, proved far superior to the softer copper formerly used. The Arabs, who could not sufficiently admire her graceful form, the facility with which she was handled, and above all things, her speed, called her the Sharrádeh, or runaway (mare). The ‘Louisa’ was indeed sadly given to breaking her halter and to bolting. We lost her during a storm near Mombasah, but an article so remarkable and so useless to any but ourselves was of course easily recovered. Compelled by want of carriage on the coast to reduce my material, I left her most unwillingly at Zanzibar. Buoyant as graceful, fireproof, wormproof, and waterproof, incapable of becoming nail-sick or water-logged, she would indeed have been a Godsend upon the Tanganyika lake, sparing us long delay, great expense, and a host of difficulties and hardships.

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Footnote 123:

This salt stream might have been some confusion with the salt Lake
Naivasha or Balibali, in about S. lat. 1° 40′, first laid down by the
Rev. Thomas Wakefield, ‘Routes of Native Caravans from the Coast to
the Interior of Eastern Africa, chiefly from information given by Sádi
bin Ahédi, a native of a district near Gázi (Gási?), in Udigo, a
little north of Zanzibar’ (pp. 303-339, Journal of the Royal
Geographical Society, vol. xl. 1870). Of this very valuable paper I
shall have more to say in Vol. II.

Footnote 124:

I leave these words as they were written in 1857, a time when German
nationality did not exist, and when the name of German had perhaps
reached its lowest appreciation. Throughout the history of the
nineteenth century there is nothing more striking than the change
which the last decade has worked in Europe, than the rise of the
mighty power, which in a month crushed the armies of France, and which
tore from her side the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine. By an
Englishman who loves his country, nothing can be more enthusiastically
welcomed than this accession to power of a kindred people, connected
with us by language, by religion, and by all the ties which bind
nation to nation. It proves that the North is still the fecund mother
of heroes, and it justifies us in hoping that our Anglo-Teutonic
blood, with its Scandinavian ‘baptism,’ will gain new strength by the
example, and will apply itself to rival our Continental cousins in the
course of progress, and in the mighty struggle for national life and
prosperity.

Footnote 125:

Dr Ruschenberger remarked the skeletons on the beach to the North and
to the East of the Island.