Chapter Thirteen - Down the River—The Lake at Last—Selim describes the Lake’s Beauties—Kalulu answers Selim—Kalulu does not believe in Selim’s Sky-spirit.—The Journey on the Lake—Selim shoots a Zebra—Selim’s furious ride on a Zebra—Selim safe—The Tempest on the Lake—Slaves again.
The time to make a bold stroke towards regaining a country where they might meet friends came about three hours after darkness had fallen upon the earth. No sound had been heard to cause alarm: the bullfrogs growled inharmoniously among the wild spear-grass; the bull-crocodile woke the echoes with his hoarse roar; the black ibis had long ago hushed its harsh screams. It was surely time to be astir, for at this time of night peaceful Africans or weak parties seldom venture out of their villages.
They soon found the canoe, and without exchanging a word the men and boys cautiously got in, and Simba and Moto, each taking a paddle, drove the boat out until it reached the flood, and silently dipping their paddles in the water they guided their boat to the opposite side, and under the lee of the tall grass and mangrove trees impelled her along noiselessly.
They came abreast of the village, and they rested on their paddles; they passed it, and the work was resumed with caution. Once beyond the fields, Kalulu and Selim each took a paddle, and the increased muscle soon sent her swiftly gliding down. They were now passing through an uncultivated tract, and Simba exerted his giant strength, and Moto his sinew and muscle to the work, and the rapid progress they were making was seen by the swift flight of trees and branches and tall cane by them.
The stars, in bright galaxies and shiny myriads, lit their course, the river flow aided them, and the rapid rate at which they went exhilarated them. They were probably going down the river at the rate of five miles an hour, thus paddling with the current; nine hours of such work would put them out of reach of danger by morning, even should they be pursued; and provided they paddled on unseen by the natives no trace would be left behind by them.
This was a happy and expeditious way of travelling towards home, thought our people. The longest day’s march was nothing compared to the number of miles that may be travelled down stream, for even should they rest awhile the friendly current still conveyed them down towards their destination. So, blessing your stars, and your fortune, glide on my heroes, glide down until morning!
The day dawned and revealed their surroundings, prominent hills, all crowned with tall trees, with slopes descending rapidly to the river’s edge, a straight course before them; the current swifter; sometimes racing past the rocks with the speed of a rapid, and not a sign of cultivation about them anywhere. Cheered by the auspicious outlook they bent to their paddles with will and vigour.
Beyond the hill-country the river broadened and became sluggish in its flow; tall matete cane towered above them to the height of bamboo. This also was cheering, for except fishermen no tribe cares to live in such a sickly neighbourhood. After resting a short time and recruiting their strength with a breakfast of dried meat, they continued their course. Low, sandy islands rose in mid-stream, covered with reeds, on which lay, basking in the morning sun, several crocodiles, who rushed to their liquid homes at hearing the sound of the paddles, and on seeing the intruding canoe. On our friends rowed, past mangroves and groups of Eschinomense, which flung their random roots out in all directions; past sandy isles and patches of sandbars; through narrow channels, along which they raced, whither they knew not, whither they cared not, so they took them to the inland sea they were in search of.
At noon our party halted in the depths of a mangrove swamp, and went to sleep in the bottom of the canoe. In the dark night they woke thoroughly refreshed, and tasked their powers of digestion with some more beef, and then paddled out to the stream once more. Another night was passed under the beamy stars and dark-blue sky, while mild breezes bathed their hot brows, and tall cane gently nodded their heads as a token of farewell, and the leaves sighed their regrets at the evanishing canoe. The water broke in wavelets against her side, and formed a foamy wake behind. The bull-crocodile sonorously roared, and the bull hippo, at his banquet of tiger grass, uttered his deep base bellow, which strange noises the startled night caught up and pealed across the swampy fens and morasses, rousing the indignant and protesting frogs. Still silent sat the rowers, uttering no words, speechless as shadows; while the canoe cleft the murky-faced river, glided swiftly under the nodding reeds and sombrous mangrove, and halted not for frog or crocodile.
And morning came; and as the rising sun began to drive the mist of night away—lo! the lake at last! Liemba’s lake! And the hitherto speechless rowers burst into a triumphant shout and an enraptured “Ah!” as they thought the goal was won.
Let each reader fancy to himself the expanding view of the silver grey waters of the lake; its miniature waves lifting their snowy crests as they felt the force of the gentle gale; the sun reflected a thousand times as, rising above the eastern horizon, it slanted over the heads of the joyous rowers and mirrored itself in the tiny waves and troughs. On the left, the lake-shore studded with many a hummock cone and blue hill, and between each the shadowy forest glades; and along the margin of the shore a strip of white sand, laved by whiter foam. And now the canoe is quite out of the river current, and points up the lake, with glorious scenery awaiting it on the right, brown rock mountains receding from the water’s edge to lofty altitudes, while their slopes contiguous are enriched with tier upon tier of luxuriant and green mimosa, and tamarind of darker green. This was the prospect which greeted them after their venturesome flight with a canoe belonging to other people, after rowing over one hundred miles in twenty-five hours, down the river.
But they were not safe yet; their pursuers might be behind them, and it behoved them to row far and long before they could be said to be quite out of danger. Selim and Kalulu were relieved by Abdullah and Niani, Simba and Moto were tireless.
They followed the right shore of the lake for over eight hours; but at the end of that time they drew in shore under the lee of an island situated in the middle of a snug picturesque bay, and hiding their boat deep among the reeds, disembarked at last on the island to shake each other by the hand, to enjoy in full the happy thoughts and the serenity of mind which the knowledge of their secured freedom had created within them.
“Ah, Kalulu, we are safe!” cried Selim in a transport of joy, as he drew the young chief to his side and sat down to rest with him.
“Yes, my brother, we are safe for the present; but Zanzibar is yet far, is it not?”
“Yes, about five months; but I think, after we reach Usowa we need fear nothing more. Moto tells me the people are kind to the Arabs. But say, is not this beautiful?” asked Selim.
“Yes; but let us go to the top of the island, whence we can see all around,” said Kalulu; “and we can sleep in safety, and have the breeze to cool us much better than below here.”
In a few minutes they had gained the highest point of the island, and sitting under the shade of a far-spreading mimosa, Selim, having taken at a glance the unusual beauties of the scene, proceeded to point them out to his companion one after another, saying:
“Follow me, Kalulu, and let me point out to thee what I consider pretty. Look at the water of Liemba, so beautiful, so clear, so deep; and, does it not shame the sky with its blueness where it is deep? And look at the shores dotted with the little hills! They stand apart from each other, as if each was the abode of some spirit. They also image themselves in the deep water, as if they wished to see, as our vain women do, how pretty they look. Are they not pretty? Seest thou not how each hill is like a Kituta hut; but, unlike the straw with which the Watuta thatch their houses, the great Sky-spirit has thatched these with beautiful trees, and sent the lake winds to make music among the leaves and branches. And look between the hills, Kalulu; follow the winding valleys with thine eyes, until they rest where the valleys are lost in those grey mountain folds. If thou wert close to any of those valleys, thou wouldst hear the brooks sing and laugh as they race over rock and pebble towards the deep Liemba.”
After a little while he continued, more seriously: “The music of the trees and the music of the brooks mingling together speak to us children of the Arabs of the goodness of the Sky-spirit. If thine hearing was fine enough, and we two were under those trees of the valley yonder, thou wouldst be able to hear the voice of my mind and heart sing in sympathy with the brook and the trees; and just as my heart sings out of sympathy with their voices, so do the birds sing. Hast thou never thought how pretty and sweet sound the songs of birds, Kalulu? I have often, when in the mangoe grove near my father’s house, seated on a carpet of young and tender grass, watched a little bird coming with a graceful, easy flight, and listened to it singing as it flew. I have watched it turning its little head about so cunningly to see if I was there, and I have seen it looking for a comfortable twig to rest upon, and when it was satisfied I have heard it utter a wondrous melody, and this it seemed to do by simply opening its mouth and erecting its head, and I could not imitate it, try how I might. But though my voice failed, my heart joined with it in song; and if all the little singing birds sang together, my heart could sing as free, as clear as they.
“Hark, Kalulu! dost thou not hear the deep lake sing? No! I hear it, and understand its song. Look at the minute waves the zephyr rolls on the beach. Listen to the sound of them as they gather themselves up like long bales of white cloth, and rush to lave the sand. That is music to me, and while it sings I think of the deeper, sweeter music which the sea of Zanj makes at eve of day, which it made while my father and his kinsman sat near the foamy waves to watch the sun falling towards the sunset land. Wouldst thou believe it, dear Kalulu, the voices of those tiny waves sounding in my ear like the sighs of departing friends make me better and purer, more like a child of great Allah, the pure Sky-spirit, who made both thee and I, and all mankind. They make me better, because the gentle thought of love to all men fills my mind; they make me purer, because they draw me nearer to God. I have at this moment no hateful, unkind feeling towards any man. To even Ferodia I bear no ill-will. I forget—I have a wish to forget—what misery he caused me and mine. For what am I in the presence of Allah, whom I see in yon great mountains of grey rock, in yon boundless forests, in those far-reaching valleys, in those tall hills, in those wavelets, in the deep, deep water below us, and that immense roof of cloud and vapour—so vast, so far above us, above which the golden throne of Allah rests.”
Kalulu had all this time been listening with wonder to Selim, whom he regarded as talking magic; for the truth was, that Selim’s feelings were so wrought upon by the beauty of the scene and the gratitude he felt for his escape from the tribe whose canoe his companions had taken that his face had assumed a beatified look, which the more practical Kalulu could not comprehend, unless he supposed he was talking magic. Magic powers and gifts Kalulu could understand and appreciate. When he recovered his speech Kalulu said:
“Selim, my brother, thy voice kindles in me a wish that I were born an Arab’s son. Yet for all I have listened to thee, I fail to see the beauty thou sayest thou dost see. I fail also to hear the song or music of the Sky-spirit, or of the brook, or of the trees, or of the waves. But I am not one of the Arabs. I am of Urori, and now a Mtuta and a king. I am the son of Mostana, the Kirori king, whom Kisesa the Arab slew. I have lived in the sunshine of Urori and Ututa. I have seen the forests of both countries, and have roamed over their plains. I have chased the antelope and the buffalo, hunted the quagga and the giraffe. I have searched for honey in the woods, and followed the honey-bird wheresoever he led me. I have trapped wild birds and guinea-fowl in the jungle. I have been in valleys, and bathed in the streams that ran through them. I have climbed steep rocks and high mountains, camped on the hills many and many a night; but I never heard music in any of these things.
“Music!” continued Kalulu. “What tribe loves music better than the Warori and the Watuta. Our mothers, seated under the shade of plantain or tamarind, sing us to sleep while we suck. They sing of corn-fields, of labour, of gliding down rivers, of war, of great kings long since dead, and of festal days. But they never sing of birds, or of the music of the water. We never hear such music as thou dost hear. Before we have barely learned to walk, our little feet keep step to the sounding ‘goma’ (drum) of the village, and our hands begin a-clapping with the chorus. When we are great boys we drum and sing all day under the shade, and at night during the large moon we often continue the dance and song until the morning. Our women, while they hoe in the field, sing; and while they gather the sticks for the evening fire, or pound the grain into flower, and while they cook for their lords, they sing. The warriors sing always before they go out on the hunt, before the battle, at the marriage, at a death, and at a burial, they sing. They are ever singing, and so am I when I may. I love to sing. But none of our warriors ever said that waters sing, or that trees, or leaves, or branches sing. Thou mightst as well have told me that the cattle, when they low, sing; or that kids when they bleat, or that the hyaena when he growls, or that the jackal when he hungrily yelps, or that the lion when he roars. Dost thou call the roar of the mamba, or the bellow of the hippopotamus, or the screaming cry of the quagga, or the shrill neigh of the zebra, singing? Hast thou heard the furious bellow of the buffalo, or the rageful trumpet of the elephant when he charges, or the grunt of the wart-hog, or the warning snort of the eland, or the noise of the rhinoceros when he plunges at his foe? Would the children of the Arabs say any of these sang? If thou sayest that birds when they chirp, the wind when it moans, the leaves when they rustle, or the waters when they splash and roll over the beach, do sing, then why not say that the noises of the animals are their songs?” After a short breathing spell Kalulu continued: “Ah! Selim, my brother, thy Sky-spirit and mine are not the same. Thine teaches thee nothing but lies. Lo! he is afraid to show himself, or perhaps, like the Watuta warriors, he loves to bask in the sun on his throne of gold; perhaps he loves his ‘pombe’ (beer) like our chiefs. If, as thou sayest, he lives above the clouds, it must be very hot above there, and great heat makes people lazy. Why does he not come down and show himself? Our Sky-spirit comes often to visit us. He is one day like a bird, with white wings; the next he is like a big raven. One day he is a roaring lion, another day he is like a leopard. The Mganga calls unto him with his medicine and gourd, and he either makes us strong in war, or gives us abundance of cloth, beads, and elephant teeth. He kills us, if he is angry, with a bad disease; sends strong tribes, and stirs their hearts against us, while he makes our hearts faint and our arms weak; but he never lies. When a good magic doctor asks him he always answers, and his words come to pass.”
After another pause, Kalulu continued once more. “Thou sayest that thy Sky-spirit made thee and me, and all men. Perhaps he did make thee and the Arabs, for thou and they are white; but he did not make the Warori or the Watuta. We are black, born of black mothers, and sired by black fathers. Hast thou seen the kidling by the side of its dam? or the young fawn frisking by the side of its mother? Even as the kidling and the young fawn came to this world, came the children of the Watuta and Warori. Thou didst tell me once that the good Arabs go when they die to a beautiful place called Paradise. Perhaps they do, for they are white, and have been favoured by thy Sky-spirit. But good or bad, Warori and Watuta, when they die, go to the ground, into the deep grave, and there are no more words from them, because they have no breath; they are ended. That is what the magic doctors, and those who know, have told me, and there is no untruth in what I say.”
“Oh! Kalulu, my brother, thou art now like those who cannot see, because there is no light in their eyes, or like those who do not hear, because their ears are stopped. There is no doubt that God, the Sky-spirit, made the sky like a curtain round about us, and that He made the earth like a bed spread out for us to live in, and, though thou art black, He made thee as well as He made me—He made the birds, the trees, the rocks, the valleys, and the hills; He hath caused the rain to fall in its proper season, and all the fruits and corn of the earth to grow for us, each in its own good time. There is no lie in all this, it is truth as clear as yon mountains. Thou art now like a child in the knowledge of these things, but when thou wilt reach Zanzibar, and shall have learnt our language, thou wilt know the truth of what I speak. Thy mind is now like the troubled clouds of the morning, which are yet dark and gloomy, but through them all comes the sun, and the black clouds vanish before his bright glory; so will the darkness which now covers thy mind, and hides the light, for when thou canst talk, and understand what I say, the truth will shine through it all, and the darkness will be no more. Enough for the present; let us rest and sleep, that we may be ready for our journey to-night,” and Selim lay down, and Kalulu, after trying in vain to penetrate the meaning of all his brother’s words, and to see the promised light before the fulfilment of time, finally lay down, and forgot all about the wonderful Sky-spirit in a deep slumber.
They were wakened by Simba’s voice, who stood like a colossal shadow-being of the spirit-land above them, for so his figure appeared to their half-dreamy senses. But a vigorous shake of both by his heavy hand soon dispelled the half-formed dreams, and informed them that it was night, and that their friend Simba was urging them to be up and away.
Lightly they descended the hill and stepped into their dear little canoe, and presently the isle of Mimosas, on which they had rested, was but a dim configuration of a low hill, and, receding still further, it became lost in the general gloom of night.
The canoe was far enough from shore not to be delayed by any fishing-boats; the deep water was all about them, and the lofty, far-upheaving, beaming heaven above them, with its countless myriads of ever-blinking lights, lighting them, poor wanderers, on their way.
Kalulu, to wile away the time and to cheer his companions, struck up, in a low voice, the boat song of the Liemba, with the chorus “We are gliding, Swiftly gliding.”
And, in the quicker, throb-like impulsion of the canoe which followed, Kalulu knew that the song and music had the desired effect on the crew.
Morning came again, and keen eyes searched the shore for habitations, but, assured that there were none, the crew advanced perceptibly nearer; and Simba, perceiving an opening between two low hills, advised that they should row for it, and try their hands on game, as provisions had run very low.
A happier place could not have been chosen, for all around was clear of cane and rank grass, which generally bordered the lake-shore near the river mouths; and instead of this swampy vegetation rose a thin forest, in which there were numbers of fruit-trees, ripe black singwe—an oval fruit of the size of a plum, but which has a more piquant flavour than our plume—and yellow mbembu—a stone fruit, in shape like a small peach; but though I call it the forest peach from this likeness, its flesh breaks off like a pear’s, even when ripest, but its taste is a mixture of the peach and the pear—to which our party rushed, like the half-starved creatures they were.
Having refreshed themselves with handfuls of the delicious fruit, Kalulu proposed that he and Selim should venture out in one direction, while Moto and Abdullah should go in another, to look for game; meantime Simba and Niani to look after the canoe. The proposition was agreeable to all.
Kalulu and Selim chose a north-east direction, Moto and Abdullah selected a south-east route.
The first couple, with whom we have most to deal, struck out boldly, Kalulu armed with his spear, and bow, and arrows, Selim with his English “Joe Manton,” which had often before distinguished itself on many a hunting-field. Thickets were passed by, as well as the thin forest, without meeting with a single head of game; but suddenly the thin forest gave way to a bit of park-land, that is, an open country sprinkled with a few noble trees here and there, with its face slightly rolling, thus forming an agreeable prospect compared to what a flat ground would have furnished. In the distance, say at a hundred yards off from the thin forest they were about leaving, the two boys saw a herd of noble zebra engaged in play, in nibbling each other’s necks, or, with ears drawn back, were playfully kicking at each other. Selim flung his rifle-barrel into the hollow of his left hand, and aimed at a perfectly regal animal, kingly in his pride and beauty, regal in shape and size, who, foremost of the herd, had seen the intruders, and who, with an erect head and noble mien, was engaged in surveying them.
Crack went the rifle, and the magnificent beast rolled on his side, while the herd, uttering their alarm and sorrow in shrill neighs, scampered off to a safer distance to scrutinise the intruders, who with merry laugh and light bounds hastened to secure their game.
The wounded zebra lay still, and Selim, thinking it dead, could not help laying down his rifle, quite forgetful of the Moslem’s duty of severing its throat and letting out the blood, to survey the beautiful beast. It was so beautiful he could not help going to it, and striding the back, taking hold of the mane, and saying to Kalulu:
“Ah, what a fine horse he would make! how I wish that such an animal as this would carry me to Zanzibar,” and as he said this, while Selim was on his back imitating the movements of a rider, the zebra rose to his feet so quick that the boy had no time to throw himself off, and bounded after the herd with the swiftness of lightning.
Kalulu uttered a cry of horror; but, recovering quickly, he drew his bow and sent an arrow deep into the flanks of the fleeing animal.
This wound but spurred the furious and frightened beast, with his strange rider, to quicker speed. Kalulu heard the glad neighing of the zebra herd as they greeted the approach of their lord; he saw them surround him, then looking suspiciously at the rider; saw them, while furiously galloping over the park-land, run at the boy with open mouth and drawn ears; saw them frantically kicking their heels about to the right and left; and, while his heart stood still with fear for his white brother’s safety, he saw the herd, still chasing the ridden zebra, vanish in the forest beyond.
Then, waking from the stupor of fear and surprise, Kalulu noted the direction the herd had taken, he hastened back to the bivouac, where Simba and Niani sat waiting the return of the hunters, and breathlessly informed the astounded giant that Selim had galloped away on the back of a zebra into the forest, and urged him to take his gun and follow him; and, without waiting to see the effect of his words, he bounded off again in pursuit of the flying herd.
Niani uttered a cry of sorrow, but Simba, after waiting a second to tell him not to stir from his concealment, ran after Kalulu. Overtaking him, they both stood for a moment under the tree where the zebra had lain apparently dead. Kalulu pointed to the direction the herd had taken, and without more words the two, Simba and Kalulu, braced themselves for a run.
The soft ground showed the pursuers the traces of the hoofs which had been fiercely struck deep into the ground, as the flanking animals outside of the herd had charged at the rider of their lord; at the base being who had audaciously usurped a seat no living man had a right to claim. The pursuers noted these things as they ran, and could well have described the fury of the herd, as they saw their noble king thus ignominiously treated. What! they! free rovers of the virgin forest and plain, the untamed creatures of the wilds, whose gorgeous backs and splendid hides had never been defiled, within the memory of the oldest zebra, by the bestriding limbs of any man, to see their noble lord insulted! No wonder when such thoughts filled them, that their eyes flashed and their crests bristled, and their flowing tails erected, and their hoofs struck deep with frantic energy into the yielding turf. Then they thought of what Selim’s feelings must be, surrounded thus by the indignant creatures, charging, and biting, and kicking at him, eyes kindled with honest rage, as they ranged around their monarch—their open nostrils glowing like fire, and emitting their hot, steamy breath, while he struck right and left, and shouted to fend them off.
On continued the pursuers, with increased speed, as they thought of the great danger their young friend was in, with their heads resting on their shoulders, and their faces cutting the tepid breeze, and their mouths wide open to inhale the air in short, quick draughts, for the lungs that rapidly exhausted it, with their hands fanning the wind, and their chests rising and subsiding with each breath they took, and the hips urging and impelling the lagging feet, which fain would have spurned the ground.
On, on, my brave, faithful friends! take no heed to yourselves; think not of your growing weariness, or of future pain. Let your livers ache, and the overtasked lungs feel exhausted! Let your heads throb, and your limbs be fatigued; your friend is in need! Be not discouraged. See the large clots of blood that stain the sheeny grass; the zebra monarch must yield to fate, despite his royal body-guard. His life wanes fast, as ye may note by the red blood which dyes the ground. On, on, my gallant souls! Speed on, my agile Kalulu! Confess no fatigue; for thou art a son of the forest, and rightly named after the swift-footed fawnling. On, on, my brave Simba! one effort more; let it not be said that a boy shamed thee! Ha! behold! What said I? Yonder lies your prize stretched on the ground! And see, here is Selim himself advancing towards ye! The Arab boy is then safe.
Simba and Kalulu were so tired after their long run, which had lasted an hour, that they were compelled to throw themselves on the ground, while the throbbing hearts heat wildly, and their lungs laboured hard and fast; but finally, though their heads yet ached with pain, they were tranquil enough to hear Selim’s story, which was, in the main, described above, though when the zebra staggered and fell, Selim said that he leaped down, and ran behind a tree, while the herd, neighing shrilly, disappeared in the forest, and left their monarch alone to his fate.
After a short time Simba and Kalulu were so far recovered, as to be able to rise up to cut up some of the zebra that had given them so much trouble and anxiety; then, loaded with meat, they began to retrace their steps along the same road they had ran so fast in pursuit of him whom they now heard laughing as he told some points of the story.
At sunset they arrived at the tree whence the unequal race began, where they found Selim’s rifle, which he had unwisely left on the ground, and proceeding to their bivouac, were all heartily welcomed by Moto and Abdullah, who had killed a young buffalo cow, whose generous meat was already cooking on the wooden platform we have in another chapter described.
They rested that night in the same spot, where they were so secure from molestation, to enjoy the abundance Nature had furnished them, and to relieve themselves from the strain the arduous labour of flight had imposed upon them the last few days.
Continuing their journey at sunrise, they hugged the shore, which they had thus a chance to observe more closely. They could see the waves of the surf break on the rocks at the foot of hills rising above them, or playfully toss themselves in wanton glee on the shingly or the sandy beach, their curling caps becoming white foam as they met resistance in the firm land; and at each hollow between the hills they could note the lazy rillets dribble through the tiny sandy furrows into the lake; or watch how the greater streams that continually discharged themselves by every avenue to the great lake, came sailing round the bends of their course from under the sunless gloom of embracing mangrove bough and cane; or look in wonder at the remarkably lofty matete, which they ever and anon passed, whose each stalk was furnished with many a rapier-like leaf, which rustled gently before the wind, and showed a sheen and glister which the finest silk they had ever seen could not rival; or glance with curious eyes at their stalks below, when they came in contact with the black earth that nourished such profuse vegetation, and see how, one after another, these receded to rayless shadow and all-pervading darkness, in which, however, their ears detected the movements of busy feet, the quick pattering on the earth, the signals and low triumphant cries of the birds, which seek shelter and have their being in such gloomy recesses—from the sleek-looking diver to the active little kingfisher; from the crested crane, or the towering pelican, to the pretty white paddy-birds.
They passed many and many a bold cape and lowland, whereon grew wild plaintains, whose broad fronds offered an impervious protection against the noon-day heat, which nourished scores and scores of wild guinea-palms, and dark green tamarinds, and tall trees, too, from whose stems the natives excavate their canoes, and umbrageous sycamores and wide-spreading mimosa. All these headlands and lowlands, head-capes, and far in-reaching bays and creeks, where sported the hippopotami, and lazily floated the crocodile in his enormous length—yea, all were beautiful.
Then the lake contracted; the two shores came nearer, and a strong current carried them safely towards the north, and to a lake of still greater size and extent. They continued along the right shore of the lake, congratulating themselves that they were now in the sea of Ujiji. Now and then they passed villages, which they took good care to avoid, and at night they rested on the shore in the deepest recesses of a cane-brake, or on some lonely island far removed from any habitation; day after day they continued their journey unmolested; and each person of the party now came to think that Usowa would certainly be reached in safety.
But on the sixth day after they had entered the great lake a storm arose, accompanied by lightning and a great downpour of rain, and the furious waves arched their white crests, and were driven wilder and higher above their heads by the angry wind; while the canoe which had carried them so long became tossed about and pelted by the maddened water, until it seemed as if they must all perish. Simba and Moto manfully laboured at their paddles, and endeavoured to direct her head to the shore, but the strong wind laughed at their efforts, and blew her on before it, and the waves dashed their heads against it, and drove it on—now on their topmost crests, and now into the engulfing troughs which opened to receive it as it was precipitated down to them. The lightning played in all directions, the heavens seemed rent with the deafening thunder-crash, and the rain poured like a deluge; and while the wretched boys were compelled to bale the water with their hands, the wind and wares carried the half-submerged canoe where they listed. Thus through the mist, and fog, and blinding rain, while Simba and Moto continued to keep her before the wind, the canoe was being driven towards an inhabited portion of the shore. The rain ceased for a moment, and the mist cleared away, only to allow the crew in the canoe to see whither they were drifting, and to allow a number of people crowded under a temporary shed on the shore to see them.
“Who were these people?” thought the fear-stricken fugitives. “What would be their reception?” But they had no time to think more before they were in the surf, and a mighty wave came and struck the paddle from Simba’s hand, and spun the canoe round broadside to a second wave which lifted it to an immense height, and dashed it upside down; while a third came on irresistibly, and sent it and its late crew far on the beach, stunned and bruised, where, before they could arise to their feet, they were pounced upon by the shore people, to be enslaved once more. Oh, misery! The shore people turned out to be a nomadic tribe of Wazavila—or Wazavira, as the Arabs pronounce the name—who erect their huts anywhere between southern Unyamwezi and Liemba, from Usowa to the borders of Ututa. Had Simba and his companions been able to travel three days longer they might have reached friendly Usowa easily, but here, almost on the threshold of the friendly region, they had fallen into the power of the disreputable Wazavila freebooters, Simba struggled desperately, but neither he nor any of his companions had the slightest chance against the numbers that surrounded them. They were bound hand and foot, and carried under the roof of the shed, where the white bodies and straight hair of the Arabs elicited many a wondering comment, and provoked as much surprise as they had done amongst the Watuta when they were first captured.
The chief of these rovers was called Casema. His people, including women and children, numbered about three hundred. About four months before the period at which they are introduced to us by this capture of our unfortunate heroes, they had started from their home, Benzani, a district which lay somewhere north of the Bungwa River, and east of Usowa, to which they now intended to return, having secured such prizes.
Simba and Moto heard these remarks, as the chief consulted with his people about the plan of action, and felt convinced they need not despair, that the prospects of an escape eventually from these people were exceedingly bright if they were only prudent in their behaviour. They could govern themselves, but they were not so sure of the fiery young Kituta chief, Kalulu, who would probably before long commit some act of imprudence; nor were they quite sure of the indomitable young Arabs, who would be naturally inclined to despair at so many reverses; for Niani, poor little fellow! who was a slave by birth, they need fear nothing, as he could relapse at will into that state of frigid, stoical apathy a slave with no promising future before him so soon assumes,
The sky soon cleared up, the wind went down, and the wares abated, and the captors became more lively in their behaviour; but fearing that some aid might come to their captives in some shape by the lake, at sunset they broke camp, and started for the interior, but not before their miserable slaves had been tied together by the neck, with stout thongs of green hide.
The general direction they travelled was east, but the caravan filed by bends and curves so numerous, that it was with great difficulty Moto could settle in his mind in which direction they were going.
At midnight they bivouacked in the depth of a forest, and warriors were detailed to watch the captives, but the latter were so fatigued with the exertions of the day, that such precautions were needless. They had soon fallen asleep, despite the unpleasant thongs that encircled their necks, or the more unpleasant bonds which confined their hands behind them.
