Verney Lovett Cameron

We were saved, but, alas! on looking round we found that two of the last five who had stood back to back were mortally wounded. Only Hatibu, myself, and another man named Bilal could hope to recover from our wounds, and even we would have been considered serious cases in the surgical wards of any hospital.

Soon we were surrounded by eager questioners, and our hurts were attended to. Some of our rescuers pursued the routed enemy; others cleared the ground of the tokens of the fray, reserving the bodies of our dead companions for decent burial, while those of the Washenzi, or heathen, as the natives were called, were thrown into the jungle, where they would afford a repast to birds of prey, jackals, and hyenas.

Huts and shelters were soon built. After a time the men who had been engaged in pursuit of the enemy came back, driving before them strings of prisoners whom they had captured. Soon after another body of men came in, among whom were several of

HATIBU AND BILAL.

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light complexion, attired in long white shirts, and with white cloths round their heads.

Chief among these was a man rather over the ordinary height, with a black beard and moustache in which the gray hairs were beginning to appear. He was quite white, though of a sallow complexion, with a high-hooked nose and deep black eyes of a most kindly expression, though it was evident that if roused they could be stern and flashing. In his left hand he carried a sheathed two-handed sword, innocent of guard. He was closely followed by a boy about twelve years old carrying a double-barrelled percussion rifle.

This was the famed Hamees ibu Sayf, otherwise known as Tipolo, the principal among all the Arabs who in search of ivory and slaves had crossed the Tanganyika. He exercised an authority among his fellows which few cared to dispute. Upwards of two hundred freemen and slaves from “the island,” and six hundred natives of Unyamwesi, all armed with muskets, served him well and faithfully in the dual capacity of porters and irregular troops.

Besides Hamees ibu Sayf, who alone was of the pure Arab blood of Muscat, there were Wasuahili from “the island,” and Wamerima from the coast, Muinyi Dugumbi, Habib wadi Nassur, Juma wadi Hamed, Muinyi Heri and Hamad ibu Ghasib, all traders, but none of whom were able to muster more than sixty or seventy guns individually. There were also several men either free or the confidential slaves of men resident at Zanzibar, who had followed the caravans of the larger traders with bodies of ten or a dozen men each.

All these men may be dismissed without remark, save only Tipolo, who was an extraordinary man, and who, if he had lived, might now be filling the place occupied by Tipo-Tipo (Hamed ibu Hamed), who now exercises what is practically supreme power from the Tanganyika to Stanley Falls on the Congo. Tipolo was, I regret to say, a slave-trader. His followers were often guilty of great cruelties, for he could not always be with them to restrain them. He himself was a man of kindly disposition; and though brave as a lion, and nothing loath to engage in war when he considered it necessary or advantageous, was equally willing to make treaties with the native chiefs, and was never known to depart from his plighted word. Indeed, many times when other traders were engaged in hostilities with chiefs whom he had promised to assist, if his words and remonstrances were not heeded, he threw the weight of his armed men into the scale on the side of the natives; and, contrary to the custom of many of the Zanzibar travelling merchants, issued beads and other things to his men to buy food, and would not permit them to live at free quarters among the natives.

He now came and sat down where Hatibu, Bilal, and I were lying, and said, gravely and courteously, “Good morning.” It was so long since I had heard a word of my mother tongue, that it awoke many emotions in my breast, and unbidden tears forced themselves to my eyes as I eagerly answered. The sound of English even from my own mouth seemed strange to me. But great was my disappointment when I found he could not understand me, and that his whole stock of English consisted only of the two words “Good morning.”

He now questioned Hatibu about the recent occurrences. Some of the slaves we had liberated proved faithful to their trust, and had brought him news of our desperate plight. No time had been lost in coming to our relief. He said that now he would utterly destroy the power of Mona Mkulla’s successor, and give such a lesson to the natives that never again would they dare to attack a follower of Tipolo.

For some days we remained in this place, and I am sorry to say that Tipolo’s intentions were ruthlessly carried out. Every day strings of captives laden with ivory and whatever else had value in the eyes of their captors were brought into camp. News of villages burned, plantations destroyed, and men killed fighting in defence of their liberty, their families, and their homes, formed the sole topic of conversation.

I tried hard to cause Tipolo to give orders for the work of revenge and extermination to cease; but he said his word was plighted to the other traders that they would carry out the work of plunder to the utmost, and having an opportunity such as rarely, if ever, had occurred before, they were loath to desist. His Wanyamwesi also, unless they were permitted to make slaves, would probably prove unruly, and might perhaps even desert en masse, and leave him without the means of transporting the ivory he had collected to the coast.

By degrees I won over Muinyi Heri, Habib wadi Nassur, and others to the side of mercy; but Muinyi Dugumbi would not listen to my pleadings. At last Tipolo said that for one man’s lust of wealth the war should no longer be carried on, and gave the word for the march to Nyangwe. He told Muinyi Dugumbi that if he did not tell his followers to cease from plunder he would turn his Wanyamwesi against them; and Muinyi sullenly consented.

The wounds of Hatibu, Bilal, and myself, which we had received in our desperate defence of our lives, did not permit us to walk, and litters were constructed on which we were carried. It was with feelings of joy and thankfulness that we commenced our journey towards Nyangwe, the first step towards the coast and of my return to my own people. I need hardly say that my opinion about the delights of African travel had been considerably modified since I and my brother Willie used to talk, on board the Petrel, of the wonderful journeys of Livingstone.

Among Tipolo’s domestic slaves were some who understood the noble art of cookery in a more extended sense than any persons I had hitherto met with in the Dark Continent, and with good food, careful nursing, and revived hope, my wounds recovered so quickly that before half the journey to Nyangwe was

completed, I was able for a good portion of each day’s march to quit my litter and walk. When I did I always kept near Tipolo, and saw plenty of proof that he carried out his orders about the proper treatment of natives. In one village which we passed through some women came and complained of some men, just gone before, who had gone into a hut and stolen a quantity of plantains. He at once had the men recalled and made them restore their plunder. He took from them some beads and gave them to the women, and then dismissed the culprits with some sound blows from his walking-stick.

At last we sighted the large river on which Nyangwe is situated, and I was astonished to see such a flow of water so far away from the sea. On the side on which we approached there was a wide strip of low country, flooded in the rainy season; whilst on the other, or right side, the banks of the river rose in small cliffs about twenty or twenty-five feet high.

Close to the river on the left bank were villages which are deserted in the rains, but which were now inhabited by people called the Wagenya. These seemed one and all to be engaged in making pots of various shapes and sizes out of the clay obtained from pools left by the river when falling. While in the woods, we had come across men cutting down trees and fashioning them into canoes.

We struck the river some little distance above Nyangwe, and from the natives Tipolo managed to hire some canoes, in which he and his immediate followers, together with Hatibu, Bilal, and myself, embarked, and with the aid of a current which must have run from four to five knots an hour we reached Nyangwe about nine o’clock in the morning, having left those who were to follow by land about six. The river was full of islands. On the larger were villages inhabited by a tribe quite different in their habits and pursuits from the Wagenya, who lived on the left bank. On the numerous sand-banks were quantities of duck and other wild-fowl, while the water abounded with fish, hippopotami, and crocodiles. We passed many canoes between the islands and the shore, some with their occupants engaged in fishing. Their numbers kept on increasing as we drew nearer to Nyangwe, which I quite expected to find a very large place from the number of people I saw going there.

I tried to find out from my companions what was the cause of such a concourse of people, but the only answer I could get was, “Soko leo”—that is, Soko to-day. As I had seen the monkeys that had acted as masters of the ceremonies on the occasion of my first introduction to Hatibu, the words puzzled me exceedingly. What could “Monkeys to-day” mean? Was there going to be a great hunt of these monster apes, and were all those people going to take part in it? Thicker and thicker grew the canoes; and when a bluff crowned with some large houses with high thatched roofs came in sight, I was told it was Nyangwe, and

I saw that at the landing-place were literally hundreds of empty canoes.

Among these we made our way. We found that the other canoes which were arriving at the same time were loaded with people bringing things for sale, carried in large baskets upon the backs of women, the greater portion of the weight being supported by a band over the forehead, similar to the manner in which a fish-wife carries her creel.

On arriving at the houses we found a large open space close by crowded with people buying and selling. On Tipolo saying to me, “There’s the soko,” I learned that soko, besides being the name of an ape, also meant a market.

There must have been at least two thousand people present—the representatives of many tribes, who, though hostile to each other in all other places, met in this and other markets without fighting or strife. The Wagenya were there with their pottery. Others brought fish, both dried and fresh. Pigs, fowls, eggs, grain, ground-nuts, bananas, palm oil, goats, were bartered for such things as their possessors wanted, while for a few beads and cowries the Arab traders were able to obtain provisions for their numerous followers. The noise and confusion were indescribable. Buyers and sellers were so crowded together that it was almost impossible to make way through them, though apparently there was space enough for the market people to have spread themselves about and carried on their business in comfort, instead of jostling against each other and damaging many of their wares.

When we got through this mass of humanity we found ourselves before a large house with a large veranda, the floor of which was raised about two feet above the ground. Here mats and cushions were spread, and soon traders and their men crowded round, longing to learn what our news was. Hatibu and Bilal were welcomed by their wives with loud expressions of joy. The wives of the poor fellows who had been killed were most noisy and demonstrative in their grief, daubing themselves with white, and going round to all the houses of the settlement, wailing and clapping their hands in a measured cadence.

The news of the success of Tipolo in his expedition, was received with much applause, while admiration was lavished on Hatibu, Bilal, and the Mzungu (European) for the bravery they had displayed. We were likened to simba (lions), mwamba (crocodiles), tembe (elephants), and mboys (or buffaloes); and much wonder was expressed that I, a white man, had come from the farther sea, of the existence and position of which the people assembled had only a dim and distant knowledge. They were astonished that I had passed years among the Washenzi, or heathen, as the people of “the island” call all the pagan tribes of Central Africa, without being killed and eaten. But their astonishment rose to its greatest height when they heard that I had escaped from the dwarfs, whose quiver of poisoned

arrows I had preserved, for they were indeed watu wabaya (bad men), and mkali kama moto (hot as fire).

As soon as our budget was exhausted Tipolo inquired what had occurred during his absence. Two men were brought to him who had arrived only the evening before with the news that his brother Hamed ibu Sayf would arrive in a few days from Ujiji, where he had been to bring up goods left behind when Tipolo quitted that place; and that the road between it and Unyanyembe, which had for some time been closed by the Watuta (a robber tribe), was again open. As soon as he heard this, Tipolo said that when his brother arrived he would at once despatch a caravan to the coast with part of the ivory he had collected. He told me also that I should go with it, and that its command would be given to Hatibu. To Hatibu and Bilal he now gave their freedom, as a reward for their bravery, presenting Hatibu with twelve slaves and six tusks of ivory, and to Bilal he gave eight slaves and four tusks.

By this time the market was over. Though the only traces of there having been such an enormous assemblage of people gathered together were the trampled condition of the ground and the litter left behind, on walking to the bluff overhanging the river I could see the canoes dispersing in all directions.

A comfortable room in Tipolo’s house was now placed at my disposal. Clothes were given me to dress myself in, coffee with sugar in it, and bread made of wheaten flour, were given to me—luxuries to which I had been a stranger for many a long day. Though I knew that a long, toilsome, and perhaps dangerous journey still lay before me, I had no forebodings. When I retired to rest that night I thanked God truly and earnestly for having preserved me from all the dangers through which I had passed in my years of African travel, for the good treatment I had received at the hands of Tipolo and Hatibu, and for having brought me at last to a place of safety.