Chapter Three - The United Arab Host—The Council—The Lesser
Council—What an Arab Boy thinks of being a Slave—What Selim thinks of
Slavery—Sareastio Isa—Little Niani is ill-treated—Selim, and his
Father—Beautiful Scenery—The Land flowing with Milk and Honey—Is it right or
wrong to own Slaves?—The fearful Crocodile—Narrow Escape from Death—The Reward
of Selim’s Courage—Simba on the Alert—The Reward of Simba’s Fidelity—The dead
Marauder—The fierce Warori—The Arab Council—Is it War, or Peace?—Is it War?
The next morning the caravan of Amer bin Osman was
afoot at an early hour, all hands feeling in a more excellent mood, if
possible, than they were when they retired to sleep. They shouted, they sang
merrily, and enjoyed themselves in much the same manner that all caravans do,
when fresh and cheery they start on a trading campaign.
On the tenth day, on coming from under the shadows
of the great scarps of the Uruguru range, the walled town of Simbamwenni lay
before them, and on a green grassy slope, trending to the River Ungerengeri,
were the white tents and the huts of the caravans they were to join.
As is customary in Africa, the new-comers made
their presence known to their friends by repeated discharges of musketry, which
brought out the Arabs and their people by the hundreds.
The greeting which Amer bin Osman received from
his friends was warm and cordial. The chiefs all embraced him after the manner
and custom in vogue amongst the Arabs, while their followers were not a whit
less expressive to Amer’s people. Selim was received with extraordinary
cordiality by the younger Arabs, some of whom were of his own age, and after
interchanging the long list of greetings customary in Arab countries, they all
adjourned to Khamis bin Abdullah’s tent, who had by acclamation been elected
chief of the expedition, where in a short time dishes of curried chicken and
rice, kabobs, and sweets of various kinds, with nice biscuits, were served as a
substantial repast for the hungry travellers.
Though conversation was animated and varied enough
before Amer and his son Selim had satisfied their hunger, it did not touch upon
the object of the expedition, but simply as to what events had transpired
during the journey from the coast to Simbamwenni; but when the repast was
ended, and the dishes were cleared, Khamis bin Abdullah broached the subject
near and dear to each heart just then—the future journey or route of the
expedition, “The great question, Amer bin Osman, about which we have been
attempting to decide,” said Khamis, “is, shall we take the road to Mbumi, in
Usagara, and skirt the Mukondokwa mountains to reach Uhehe, and strike a
straight line to Urundi, thence to Marungu, south of the Tanganika, for Rua, or
shall we follow the old road through Marenga M’Kali and Ugogo to Unyanyembe,
thence to Ujiji, and across the Lake Tanganika to Rua? I should like to have
thy opinion, for thou art a man of age and experience, though thou hast never
been to this land before.”
“Allah knows,” responded Amer bin Osman, “that I
know very little of this country. If thou dost not wish to decide thyself, as
chief, which is the best road, I should like to hear from thee, or others,
about the differences between the two roads, and the kind of countries which
they traverse.”
“Well,” said Khamis bin Abdullah, deliberately,
“if I were by myself I should prefer the old road, but there are some here of
my friends who know the country as well as I do, who think we are strong enough
to be able to march along the southern road.
“If we,” continued he, “take the old road we shall
have the Wagogo to pay tribute to, or fight, as we like, between here and Rua;
but if we take the southern road, those thieves, the Wahehe, will have to be
looked after closely when going through their country; then we have the Warori,
a more powerful people than the Wagogo, to meet, whom we must make friends or
fight; then beyond Urori we have the Watuta, a tribe related to the Warori, who
speak their language and are more than the Warori, whom we shall be obliged to
pacify or make war against, just as we feel, and beyond the Watuta is a
straight road to the ivory country of Rua. I will admit that the southern road
is by three or four months the shortest, but I cannot admit that it is the
safest.”
“And what do my friends think of the two roads?
What does Sultan bin Ali say?” asked Amer.
“I say,” replied old Sultan, “that it would be far
more prudent in us to take the northern road. The Wagogo are far more
mischievous and insolent than any I know, but we need not fear them if we are
wise, and do not provoke war.”
“Well, if Sultan bin Ali and Khamis bin Abdullah
think that the northern road is the best, I would prefer to be guided by their
judgment; but what do the majority of the chiefs think of it?” asked Amer,
directing his glance to the others who had not yet spoken of this matter to
him.
Said Khamis: “There are ten chiefs of us,
including thyself; seven of us are for the southern road, and thou, and I, and
Sultan bin Ali are for taking the northern road.”
“Yes,” said Sheikh Mohammed, “for this reason. We
are over 600 strong, all armed with guns. It is true we shall have to pay
tribute to the Warori and the Watuta, and may experience some trouble from the
Wahehe, who are dogs and sons of dogs; but the tribute, if we pay any, will not
be much, and will be cheaper in the end than the three months we would lose on
the southern road; besides, we save the cloth we would have to pay the Wagogo,
who are insolent besides being extortionate. Three months on the road cost us
altogether about 900 doti, or fifteen bales of cloth. Put the Warori tribute
against the Wagogo, and we have fifteen bales of cloth, out of which we can pay
the tribute to the Watuta. It is evident we effect a saving, besides gaining
three months time.”
“That is a very good way of putting it,” said
Amer, “but what dost thou say, Khamis, about the comparative safety of the two
roads? Is there more danger to be apprehended from the Warori and the Watuta
than we, a trading caravan, would care to meet?”
“That is the view we should take of the matter,
and not of the little cloth we should save,” responded Khamis. “Experience
tells me to avoid the Warori, if possible, but above all the Watuta. The Warori
are brave and strong, and sometimes very dangerous; but I have always heard the
Watuta were dangerous, that they are a fierce tribe who live by robbing
caravans, and I should not like to undertake to decide for the southern road
without the concurrence of every chief here present.”
“Well, thou hast my consent if thou dost require
it, and if God pleases he can guide us in safety through any tribe in Africa.
Far be it from me to disagree with those who know better than I what roads to
take, and what will best serve our interests,” said Amer.
“And if thou dost require mine for thy decision,”
said old Sultan bin Ali, “I shall not deny the right of any of the other chiefs
to have as much a voice in the caravan as I have; so now, friend Khamis, thou
hast the liberty to agree or disagree, and hast a right to decide whether thou
wilt lead us through Urori or through Ugogo to the ivory country.”
“I have only one voice in the matter, and if ye
are all of one consent that it is better for us to march by the southern road,
and still of one mind that I shall lead ye, I have nothing more to say,”
responded Khamis.
“We are, we are,” they all replied.
“Very well, the march begins to-morrow,” said
Khamis bin Abdullah, “at one hour before sunrise. We follow the old road as far
as Mbumi, when we shall turn south.”
The news was soon communicated through the host of
followers, and each knot and group had their own opinions, which they discussed
with, as much acumen and wisdom as their superiors had evinced.
But not to lose eight of our friends Simba and
Moto, let us listen to what they have to say concerning the unusual line of
route about to be adopted.
It is night. The camp-fires are blazing by the
score; huts are ranged around the immense circle, which is more than 500 feet
in diameter, and scores of huts dot the centre of the circle, with their doors
opening according as the taste, fancy, or caprice of the builders suggested.
The huts of the Arab chiefs are arranged in a line close to one another, but
still far enough to insure the privacy and exclusion which every Arab so much
loves for the female portion of his household.
Near the tent of Amer bin Osman are seated before
the usual fire-pile the faithful slaves Simba and Moto with the fundis of the
other Arabs; and on carpets of Oman manufacture are placed Selim, the son of
Amer, Khamis, the young son of Khamis bin Abdullah, the leader, Isa, the son of
Sheikh Thani, and Abdullah and Mussoud, brothers, aged fourteen and twelve
respectively, the sons of Sheikh Mohammed.
We hear Selim’s voice first, as we pay him this
attention for personating the hero of this veracious romance.
Said he: “Well, Simba;—ah, Isa, you do not know
what a treasure Simba is; he is so great, so wise, so strong!—what do you think
of the southern road? do you think we shall see more fun?”
“My young master, I fear so,” answered Simba,
while at the same time he never lifted his head, so apparently intent was he in
keeping his flint-lock musket clean—a favourite occupation with Simba.
“You fear so!” said Isa, in a tone of surprise.
“What, you fear that we shall see some fun! Fie, Simba! did you not hear your
young master say you were brave and strong, and why should you fear we should
have some fun?” he asked, in a sneering tone.
Simba, turning his wise and large eyes upon Isa,
said: “Ah, Master Isa, you are a boy, and cannot understand.”
“Hear the slave!” shouted Isa, laughing
boisterously at Simba’s solemnity. “Hear the man!” he repeated. “Isa, son of
Mohammed, is a boy and cannot understand—and cannot understand what—will you
tell me, brave Simba?” he asked.
“You cannot understand, child, that what may be
fun to some people will be sorrow to others; that we may meet with fun of a
kind that neither you nor any of us will much like,” said Simba, still rubbing
away at the already excessively clean gun, and looking graver than before.
“Why, what is the matter with you to-night?” asked
Selim of Simba.
“The truth is, master, I do not like the course
the Arabs have taken. I think they have been too hasty in adopting the southern
road. None knows it better than friend Moto, and if the great masters had asked
of Moto something about the road, my mind would be more easy concerning you and
the great master Amer.”
“What do you know of it, Moto?” asked Selim.
“Speak, and tell us all you know.”
“What Simba says is truth,” replied Moto. “The
Warori are bad, bad, bad, and the Watuta are worse—very bad—and I think we
shall have very serious times of it.”
“How serious?” asked Selim again.
“I mean that we are very likely to have war with
them. Ever since Abdullah bin Nasib or Kisesa had that battle with Mostana, the
Warori have been wicked. They have Arab slaves now. They formerly used to kill
their prisoners or torture them, but now they treat them in the same way that
the Arabs treat the Warori chiefs—they make slaves of them.”
“Make slaves of Arabs!” shouted young Khamis, a
sinewy youth of sixteen, and brave as the bravest of men. “You lie, cur dog;
you lie, slave!” he added furiously.
“Ah, Master Khamis,” said Moto, deprecatingly, “if
they are slaves, it was not I who made them slaves; but I speak the truth.”
“A Bedaween!—a free Bedaween, who owns no master—a
slave! Moto, you are a liar; it is impossible. A Bedaween cannot live in
slavery.”
“But there are slaves with the Warori, and some
are Arabs. I swear it,” he added solemnly.
“Then for my part,” said young Khamis, “I am glad
that my father has taken this road. The torments of Eblis light on the
unbelieving dogs! An Arab a slave! Then let every Mrori look to himself should
he fall into my power, for, by Mohammed’s holy name, I will torture the reptile
to death.”
“Hold, young master,” said the deep-voiced Simba,
halting a moment in his work, and raising himself to his fullest height, which,
as the firelight danced on his gigantic form, seemed to add vastness to that
which was vast already. “Listen to me, Khamis, young son of Khamis bin
Abdullah; the Warori are bad, as you heard Moto say, but the Warori are men,
and I have heard a good Nazarene, one of the white men at Zanzibar, say that
all men are equal. If the Warori are men, and are lords of their own soil, and
if Arabs trouble them, or will not do them justice, what great wrong are the
Warori guilty of if they fight; and if they catch Arabs prisoners in war, why
should they not treat them as the Arabs would treat the Warori? Answer me
that.”
“Why, Simba,” asked the eldest of the sons of
Mussoud, “do you know what the sacred Küran says? I remember what the good Imam
has told me often: ‘Verily the fruit of the trees of Al Zakkum shall be the
food of the unbelievers, as the dregs of oil shall it boil in the bellies of
the damned, like the boiling of the hottest water. When ye encounter the
unbelievers strike off their heads until ye have made a great slaughter among
them, and bind them in bonds, and either give them a free dismission afterwards
or exact a ransom, until the war shall have laid down its arms.’ And in another
place the Küran says, according to the holy and learned Imam, ‘And as to those
who fight in defence of God’s true religion, God will not suffer their works to
perish; he will guide them, and will dispose their heart aright; and he will
lead them into paradise, of which he hath told them.’”
“There, Simba,” said Isa, triumphantly, “what do
you think now of slaves and true believers? Do you not think it right for us to
take and capture those who waylay us, and make them slaves for their perfidy
and savagery?”
“I think the same as before,” answered Simba. “I
do not know the Küran so well as Abdullah, it is true, but I know that the same
God who gave you sense and feeling gave the savages of Urori some sense and
feeling as well; but I should like to know what my young master Selim’s
thoughts are upon these subjects.”
“To tell you the simple truth would be to tell you
that I never thought much of these things,” answered Selim, in a mild tone. “My
father has slaves, and my relations own a great number. They are all well
looked after, and I have never heard that they were much astonished at their
condition. I have seen slaves punished and killed; but they had done wrong, and
they deserved their punishment. Neither my father nor my relations ever gave me
to suppose that by keeping slaves they were committing wrong, and you surely
cannot expect me, who am but a boy and the son of my father, to say anything
against my elders. Whatever Amer bin Osman does is right; at least, so I have
heard men say, and shall I, his son, judge him?”
“Bravely spoken,” said the impetuous Khamis,
“Bravely said, my brother Selim; but, instead of speaking to Simba as thou hast
done, thou shouldst have taken thy kurbash (whip) to him, and taught the dog to
watch the doorstep of his master, and not be teaching the son of Amer.”
“You are over hasty, Khamis,” replied Selim, in a
deprecating tone. “Simba is good and true to me and to my father’s household.
My father loves him, and I love him, black though he be, as if he were my
brother. Simba and Moto are worth their weight in the yellow metal which our
women love to adorn their necks with; yet, did it depend on my voice, a
thousand times their weight of gold would not purchase them.”
Both Simba and Moto were so affected at this that
they both fell on their knees, and crawled up to their young master to embrace
his feet, thus testifying the great love they bore him; but Selim would not
permit this, and said:
“Nay, my good Simba, and you, Moto, rise. I think
you men, not slaves, and you need not kiss my feet to show me how much you love
me. You are my friends, and I shall ever esteem you as such.”
“My good young master,” said Simba, in a voice
broken with emotion, “we are your servants, and we are proud of it. Are we not,
Moto?”
“Indeed, we are,” said Moto.
“What Arab tribe can boast a lad of your years
with so much beauty and heart? Your eyes, young master, are blacker than the
richest, ripest singwe (a species of wild plume) of Urundi, and as large as
those of the sportive kalulu (young antelope); and when they are covered with
your eyelids, we have often compared them while you were asleep, and Moto and I
watched you, to the lotus which hides its beauty at eve from the fell touch of
night. And your flesh, though not white like the bloodless pale children of the
white races, is like the warmer colour of ivory, and beautiful and clear as the
polished ivory ornaments of my people in Urundi: your limbs, clean and shapely,
are firm and hard as ivory tusks. You are like a young palm-tree in beauty and
strength. He is a happy man who calls you son, and your mother laughs for joy
in her sleep when she dreams of you. Your slaves are proud to call you master.”
“Amen, and amen,” responded Moto, while tears
descended his cheeks. “Simba has spoken nothing but the truth; he never utters
lies. Master Selim knows what Simba and Moto say they mean. Evil cannot
approach him while we are near, nor can danger lurk unseen. Rocks shall not
wound his feet, neither shall thorns prick his tender skin. If the journey is
long Simba is as strong as a camel, and Moto is fleet of foot as the zebra, and
enduring as the wild ass of Unyamwezi. Moto has spoken.”
“Eh, Khamis, and thou, lea, hear and understand,”
said Selim, smiling. “Where is the Arab who does not love the Nedjid mare,
which partakes of his food, as the wife of his bosom? But in Simba and Moto I
have two faithful friends. I have a camel, a zebra, and an ass, and you tell me
to beat them, Khamis. Fie, boy!”
“Boy, indeed! I am older than thou, and taller and
stronger. Thou art a child, or thou wouldst not believe the fulsome words of
these lying knaves. I have seen the world more than thou hast, and I assure
thee on my head I never saw the black man yet who could keep his hands from
stealing and his evil tongue from lying. I—Khamis, the son of Khamis, the son
of Abdullah—know whereof I am speaking.”
“What a dear little child he is, to be sure!”
laughed Isa. “Is it Selim, the son of Amer, whose eyes are like the singwe of
Urundi, and whose limbs are like ivory? Eh, Khamis, my brother? Is Selim, the
son of Amer, turned a girl, that his ears court such music? And if thou art of
the complexion of ivory, what are we, I wonder—I, Isa, son of Mohammed, and
Khamis, son of Khamis?”
While Selim was blushing crimson from shame at the
mocking words of Isa, little Abdullah spoke up, and said, much to everybody’s
amusement except Isa’s:
“Why, Isa, dost thou mean to say that Selim is not
good-looking? I have often heard my father, Sheikh Mohammed, say he wished I
was as good-looking as Selim the son of Amer, though he thought I was every bit
as good. And, lea—now—don’t be angry. I—I don’t think thee good-looking at all.
Thou art almost as black as Simba, and—”
“Liar!” thundered Isa, directing a blow at
Abdullah, which was happily warded by Khamis, who, though ever-ready to lift
the whip against stupid slaves, was averse to see an Arab beaten. Isa, however,
darting behind Khamis aimed another blow at Abdullah; but Abdullah, probably
seeing that he was very angry, and would strike a serious blow, took to his
heels running round the fire, chased by the infuriate Isa. As Isa passed near
one side of the fire, Niani, the little negro boy called Monkey, who had
hitherto been very quiet, seeing a chance to assist Abdullah, who had praised
Selim, thrust his foot forward; and Isa, too much occupied in watching the
manoeuvres of Abdullah, struck his shins against the obstacle, and came heavily
to the ground.
A shout of laughter greeted his fall; but the
amusement of Selim was soon changed to real concern as he saw that Isa had
quickly recovered himself, and had sprung upon Niani, and catching hold of him
by the throat and legs, was carrying him to the great log-fire, to warm him, as
he said.
Niani struggled and screamed, but in vain. Isa’s
ears were closed against a little slave’s cries, and he would probably have
made good his threat had not Selim, Khamis, and Mussoud, aided by Simba and
Moto, interfered, and cried out, “Enough, enough, son of Mohammed. Be not
wrathful with a little slave.”
As Arabs dislike to see scuffling, or at least
always interfere in cases of this kind, it is not to be wondered at Khamis
taking the part of Niani, or Simba and Moto exerting their manhood to prevent
cruelty; but Niani was not released scot-free; he received several energetic
slaps and kicks, which accelerated his departure to a safer distance.
This incident broke up the meeting. Simba and Moto
withdrew to their mats on each side of their master Amer’s tent. Khamis, Isa,
and Mussoud retired to their respective parents’ tents, and Selim entered the
tent of Amer bin Osman.
Sheikh Amer was seated on his mat in the tent,
writing by the light of a single tallow candle on a large broad sheet of stiff
white paper; but as Selim entered he put his papers by, and bending on his son
an earnest and melancholy look, said:
“My son, light of my soul and joy of my heart,
come to me, and do thou sit by me that I may feel thy cheery presence. Dost
thou know that my soul feels heavy to-night, as if some great affliction was
about to visit me?”
“And what, my father,” replied the boy, bending a
loving look on him, “couldst thou fear? Art thou not surrounded by kind friends
and servants who love thee as their father?”
“Nay, my son, it is not fear that I feel, but a
vague foreshadowing of evil which none can feel save those who have much to
lose. On whose head the evil will fall I know not, nor do I know from what
direction the evil may come; but that evil is nigh in some indistinct shape or
another my soul knows, and it is that which has cast this passing cloud over
it. But let us speak of other subjects. I have been occupied in writing letters
to Zanzibar to my friends, telling them of the new route these wayward
companions of ours have adopted, and giving directions about the disposition of
my property. Thou knowest, Selim, my child, how I have always loved thee and
treated thee, for thou art my hope and joy, and I may not hide it from thee.
Should accident happen to me it will be well for me to warn thee now that thou
hast an uncle from whom may Allah guard thee. He is a deep, designing man,
though he is my brother. Should I die, thy uncle will endeavour to do thee
harm, and it is against him I wish to guard thee.”
“But, father Amer, what harm can my uncle do me,
and why should he wrong me, who have never done him wrong in word, or thought,
or deed?” asked Selim, surprised at the tone of his father’s voice and this
revelation.
“Thou art but a child of tender years and but
little aware of the amount of wickedness in this world. Thy uncle is an
avaricious man, who would rob thee of thy birthright could he do it, and I
believe him to be bad enough to injure thee in some covert way if it were
possible. My property amounts to about fifty thousand dollars in slaves and
land, and if I die, this property, by right of thy birth as eldest son, is
thine wholly, and under no condition or restraint. Wert thou and thy mother to
die it would become the property of my brother Bashid, who is a cunning and
unscrupulous man.”
“Thou dost surprise me, my father; but thou art
well, and in good hopes of a long life. I hope thou wilt live a thousand years;
I am happy only in being thy son,” answered Selim.
“I know it, my son; and if ever a dutiful child
made the years of his father seem light, I have that child in thee, but it is
well to be provident for those whom we love. For the rest, the will of God be
done. There is another subject I wished to converse with thee upon, and that is
thy marriage. Dost thou know Leilah?”
“What! Leilah, the daughter of Khamis bin
Abdullah?” asked Selim.
“The same,” answered Amer.
“Surely, I know her. Have we not played together
when we were children, and, now I bethink me, she is the loveliest girl at
Zanzibar.”
“It is well,” said Amer. “Leilah, the daughter of
Khamis bin Abdullah is wedded to thee, and the settlements are made between
friend Khamis and myself. Should evil happen to me—which God forefend—on thy
return to Zanzibar, if thou art of age, seek thou Khamis or, in Khamis’s
absence, his kinsmen, and claim thou thy wife according unto the custom of thy
tribe. I have prepared this future for thee that thou mayst not, like the
degenerate Arabs at Zanzibar, seek a wife among strangers to thy race and
tribe, and bring disgrace upon the name of my father Osman. Thy kinsmen are
proud and belong to the pure Arab race, and they would not think well of my
memory if I had neglected to warn thee of thy duty to me and the tribe of which
Osman was so loved. Bear thou my words in thy mind, write them upon the tablets
of thy heart, and obey. Dost thou promise?”
“As God liveth, and as thy soul liveth,” responded
Selim earnestly, “to hear is to obey. I shall cherish as a holy thing thy
wish.”
“Then do thou retire and rest. These papers are to
be committed to the care of two of my servants, who will return to Zanzibar
to-morrow, when they will, upon arrival, present them to the Imam. God shield
thee from evil, and may He avert it always from all of us,” said Amer, as he
resumed his work.
“Amen and amen!” replied Selim; and, after
embracing his father, he quietly retired to his carpet to sleep the sleep of
the innocent and young.
At early dawn next morning the horns of the
several kirangozis, or guides, of the respective caravans blew loud and
cheerily, calling on all to prepare for the march.
Before an hour had elapsed, the tents had been
struck and folded, and each carrier, bearing his burden of cloth or beads
(which were to be used for barter for ivory with the tribes in the far
interior, or were, in the meanwhile, to purchase food as the caravan journeyed)
or bearing the beds, and carpets, and rugs, cooking utensils, and
despatch-boxes, was following his leaders as he stepped out briskly for the
march.
The Arab chiefs remained behind to bring up the
rear, and then, giving their rifles in charge to their gun-bearers or favourite
slaves, followed on the road their caravans had taken.
The country before them broke out into knolls and
tall cone-like hills, whose slopes were covered with here and there patches of
dense jungle, or nourished young forests whose umbrage formed a most grateful
shade during the heat of day.
Soon they had passed the healthy, breezy hills
which are but offshoots of the Uruguru range, and the land now eloped before
them into the low, flat basin of the Wami river, which during the rainy season
becomes one great swamp.
But the season, at the time our travellers passed
over the Makata Plain—as the basin is called—was soon after the effects of the
violent monsoon had disappeared, in July, when the land presents an unusually
bleached appearance; the grass is crispy, ripe, and extremely dry, the ground
is seamed with ugly rents and gape, and the rivers, Little Makata and
Mbengerenga, are but little better than small rivulets. The caravans were
therefore enabled to cross the breadth of the Makata Plain within two days, and
arrived at Mbumi in Usagara on the evening of the second day.
From Mbumi, in the same order as before, avoiding
the Mukondokwa Yalley, the steep passes of Bubeho, and the desolate,
forlorn-looking plains of Ugogo, the lengthy file of men—carriers, soldiers,
and slaves—skirted the eastern end of the Mukondokwa range, and on the third
day from Simbamwenni, arrived in a country which differed materially in aspect
from that which they had just left. Mountains of a loftier altitude, in peak
upon peak, in tier upon tier, range upon range, met the eye everywhere. Green
trees covered their slopes in an apparently endless expanse of vegetation. The
sycamore, the tamarind, the beautiful mimosa and kolqual vied with each other
in height and beauty, while a thousand other trees, shrubs, plants, and flowers
aided to give verdancy and freshness to the scene.
Down the hard, steep, rocky beds of granite and
sandstone, with here and there basalt and porphyry, flint, and quartz, foamed
the sparkling streams, which, when encountered on an African journey, give zest
to the travel and add something to the pleasures of memory. A deep gaping
fissure in a high jutting wall of rock, through which bubbled the clear water
in volumes, or a great towering rock, with perpendicular walls, to which clung,
despite the apparent impossibility, ferns, and plants, and moss, thick and
velvety, or a conical hill, which ambitiously hid its head in clouds, were
scenes to be treasured up when the march should hereafter become monotonous
through excessive sameness of feature.
When they were in camp and had rested, our young
friends went into raptures over the bold beauty of mountain scenery, and Belim,
and Abdullah, and Mussoud were constantly heard uttering their exclamations of
admiration. Selim especially, imbued as he was with the religious faith of his
father, was filled with a loftier feeling than that youthful glow and
exhilaration which his companions felt. Had he the power, he would like to have
poured out his soul in fervid verse about the grandeur, the indescribable
beauty of Nature in her wildest and most prolific mood. But being as yet a boy,
in whom the poetic instinct and feeling is strong, he said to his father, one
day, as the scenery was unusually picturesque:
“Hast thou ever, my father, during these days of
travel over these great mountain-tops, thought that Palestine, the promised
land, must be something like this? The land flowing with milk and honey. Why,
honey is already plentiful here—we need but the cows to furnish milk; but if
milk means the richness of earth, the never-dying fertility of the soil, look
but once on this view now before us, and tell me, think you Palestine can be
richer than this? Why, I feel—I do not exactly know what—but it is something
that if I have never been good or thankful to Allah for his goodness to men,
that I could be good for ever in future. Do you understand this feeling, father
Amer, or is it singular in me?”
“No, it is not singular, my dear son; but go on,
tell me what is in thy mind,” replied Sheikh Amer, himself gazing on the
revealed might of Nature.
“I have also a feeling—as if I knew it for the
first time—that this earth is large, very large, that it is immense, without
limit or boundary, and that, consequently, God, who made all this, must be
truly great. With the mountain air which I now inhale I seem to have imbibed
something purer, more subtle; yet that thing is capable of giving me more
expansion. Why was it that, before coming to these mountains, I never thought
upon this subject? Why was it that, before to-day, I had no one thought of what
might happen to-morrow, beyond what might happen to our caravan, or beyond what
I should see on the road? Yet at this moment, though my eyes seem to rest upon
this view of loveliness, I know I do not look upon its details or any
particular object, but they seem to drink it all with one look, and more,
infinitely more, than is contained in the area before me. I seem to have eyes
in my mind which have a keener sight, more extended vision, greater power than
the eyes of my head, which can see so far, and no farther. Yet to the sight of
the inner eyes, which see not, yet can see a thousand times vaster scene, a
thousand times greater prospect is revealed. Hills, dales, mountains, plains,
valleys, forests, rivers, lakes, seas, all lovely, and lovelier than what we
see now, are comprehended within the scope of my hidden and unseen eyes. What
is this new sight or feeling, my father? Canst thou tell me?”
“Ah, my child, it is simply the awakening of the
hitherto latent mind; or thought, exercised by but a faint experience, has been
touched by Nature, and begins to dawn,” replied Amer. “God had endowed thee
with the power of thought and of mind when he gave thee life. It was impossible
that it could remain for ever hidden. The hour that a child begins to exercise
his mind seeth him advanced a step nearer to manhood. It will kindle and expand
as thou growest in years, and in each day’s march thou wilt find fresh food for
it. It remains with God and thine own nature to improve it with every breath of
air thy lungs inhale. By diligently reading the Küran and studying the precepts
of Mohammed—blessed be his name!—thou wilt so protect that thought pure from
evil as the tiny germ God implanted in thy breast at thy birth.”
“But tell me, father, one thing—it is different
from that which thou hast been just telling me,” asked Selim. “Thou knowest
Simba and Moto are thy slaves. Is it right, or is it not, to own slaves?”
“It is right, certainly, my son. The Küran
sanctions it, and it has been a custom from of old with our race to own slaves.
What has prompted thee to such a question? Is it another sign of the growth of
thy mind?” his father asked, with a smile.
“I know not,” replied Selim, bending his head like
one who hesitated to speak his mind or was unable to comprehend the drift of
his own thought. “But thou knowest Simba and Moto are good; they love thyself
and me exceedingly, and as I know better than others that thou art just, and
lovest justice for its own sake, wouldst thou think it right to retain thy
slaves in bondage if they thought it injustice to them?”
“Ha! where is it possible thou couldst have gained
such ideas, child? But, never mind, since thy thoughts run so wild, I will
answer thee,” replied Amer. “No, it is not right in me, or any living man, to
retain a slave in his possession, if the slave thinks it injustice, or if his
slavery galls him; neither is it fair that, after I have purchased him with my
money, I should give him his liberty for the mere asking; but strict justice
would demand that I set a price of money on his head, or a term of labour
equivalent to the money I paid for him; and, on the payment of such money, or
on the conclusion of such labour, that he be for ever freed from bondage. So
says the Küran, and such is our law, and such has been my practice, and I would
advise thee to do likewise when the time shall come.”
“I thank thee, my father; it is all clear to me
now. But stop! harken to that sound! What may that be? Can it be the hyaena?”
“Yes, the hyaenas are out early this evening. They
are hungry; but, Selim, my son, haste to tell Simba and Moto to set the tent on
that flat piece of ground near that great tree, and bid them to be sure to turn
the door of the tent to-day towards the east.”
“Yes, my father;” and Selim, the fleet-footed
youth, agile as a young leopard, leaped over several bushes, as he ran to do
his parent’s bidding.
The camp was situated on a limited terrace or
shelf of ground rising above a body of water which more resembled a long narrow
lake than a river. Yet it was the river Lofu, or Rufu, as some call it, which
in the dry season, like many an African river, loses its current, and becomes a
series of long narrow pools, which in some places may be compared to lakes for
their length, according to the nature of the ground wherein these depressions
are found. If the ground is rocky, or of clayey mud, the water is retained,
instead of being absorbed, in which swarm multitudes of the silurus, or bearded
mud-fish. Wherever mud-fish are abundant, crocodiles, the great fish-eating
reptiles of the African water, are sure to be found; and wherever crocodiles
are found one is almost sure to find the hippopotamus, the behemoth of
Scripture; not because crocodiles and hippopotami have any affinity with each
other, but because the soil, which retains the water during the hot days of the
droughty season, is almost sure to produce in the vicinity of the pools
abundance of rich grass and tall cane, the food of the hippopotamus.
About two hours before sunset, soon after camping,
Selim, accompanied by Simba and two other men, named Baruti and Mombo, sallied
out of the camp with his faithful rifle on his shoulder to hunt for game.
The party travelled towards the upper end of the
narrow lake the caravan had camped by. Matete cane, spear, and tiger grass, in
profusion, grew near this end, and beyond lay a thin jungle, the borders of
which touched the water line. It was to this jungle they directed their steps,
for Simba had judged that it was a promising place for such sport as Selim
desired.
When the party arrived in the jungle they found
the place so delightfully cool, that they could not resist the inclination to
rest awhile and cool themselves after the labour and toil of going through the
long grass.
Simba and Selim sought the deeper shade of a
mammoth and far-spreading tamarind tree, while Baruti sought a place about
thirty yards from the tamarind, and Mombo, fatigued with the long journey over
the mountains that day, reclined under a young mimosa near the water’s edge.
The coolness of the retreat, the silence which
prevailed, and the weariness which had come over their tired frames soon
induced sleep.
They had not been in this condition long, before
the reader, had he or she been there surveying the scene, might have heard the
faintest sound of a ripple on the water, and have seen a crocodile’s head
stealthily rise above the surface, the eyes, cold and fixed, gazing over the
slightly protuberant nose, to the spot where Mombo lay. A few minutes the
crocodile thus lay still as a heavy sappy log, more than three-fourths buried
in the water, but almost imperceptibly the heavy body became buoyant, until the
lengthy form, with great ridgy scales marking the line of its spine, lay half
uncovered. Without a movement of the long powerful tail, and with but the faintest
motion of his heavy, broad, short legs, he propelled himself towards the shore.
A minute he rested there, still as death. One
could not have sworn that it was an animal, though one might have been sure,
provided no one suggested a cause for doubt. He then lifted his long head, but
with the same cautious movement which always characterises this stealthy,
cowardly creature of the African deeps, then his enormously long body, until he
resembled a huge log, propped up by four short pins—the legs appeared so out of
proportion. Anybody at first glance would have seen that in the great, unwieldy
form lay tremendous power. The trunk of the largest elephant that was ever born
would not equal in size that long tail, which seemed, on account of its length
and weight, slightly bent towards the ground at the tip.
Having again halted, he moved forward silently,
with a slightly waddling motion; and as he approached the sleeping form of
Mombo, his movements were as slow and cautious as those of a leopard before
springing upon its prey; but the monster made one hurried, convulsive movement
forward, the lower jaw was run under the sleeping man’s leg, and the upper jaw
came down with a sound like a well-oiled and sound steel spring, and the
crocodile swung the limp, warm body around, as a man would swing a cat by the
tail. But this swinging movement proved to be poor Mombo’s salvation, for he
was thus swung against a strong young tree, to which he now clung with the
strong tenacity of a man who clings for life, while he gave vent to the full
power of his lungs in cries so alarming and shrill that they were heard at the
camp of the caravans two miles off. Selim, Simba, and Baruti realised the scene
in an instant; they saw the great reptile, horrible and hideous as a nightmare,
tugging violently at the leg of the unfortunate man, whose screams pierced
their ears, and whose arms almost cracked as he held on with such a fierce grip
to the strong young sapling, and they saw that had it not been for its
fortunate proximity to him they had never seen Mombo more.
Simba was the first to recover himself, for Selim
and Baruti stood as men transfixed.
“Now, master,” said he, “your gun—quick! or he
will run away. Aim at once; but be cool, or you will kill Mombo. Aim just at
his throat, as you see his head lifted up. There, son of Amer, you have slain
the brute! Ah! he is trying to escape. Hyah! on, Baruti; your spear, man! Run!
come with me, and catch hold of his tall. Two of us can hold him, I think, or
delay him at least until he dies. There—take that, you beast!” he shouted as he
hurled his broad-bladed spear full through his side, behind the fore leg, into
his vitals, which stretched the monster lifeless after one or two convulsive
efforts.
Baruti, encouraged by Simba’s powerful voice,
which roared through the wood in accents so cheery, had at first boldly dashed
at the crocodile’s tail; but receiving a tremendous thwack on his side from the
mighty tail, which was swung about as though it were a well-handled flail—which
almost fractured every rib in his body—now stood by, looking fearfully punished
and sore.
When the monster had ceased to breathe, Selim and
Simba, attracted by the moans of Mombo, hastened to him to examine his
condition.
“Poor fellow!” said Selim. “See Simba, the leg is
stripped to the bone. What a savage reptile the crocodile is! Do you think
Mombo will live, Simba? For after this I should not like to see him die; it
would seem as if my big bullet had done no good after all.”
“He will live, Inshallah! Inshallah! (Please God!
Please God!) Mombo will live to tell the story to his children on the island
when he is an old man and past work. You know the hakim (doctor) with us is
wise and learned, and, Inshallah! Mombo, after a few days, will be all right.
Sho! Mombo die? No, master; Mombo will live to laugh at this. But we must carry
him to the camp that the hakim may dress his wounds. Come, Baruti, man—cease
your cries. Take your hatchet and cut young straight trees down while I prepare
some rope whereon Mombo may be carried. You, young master, may cut a piece of
the crocodile’s tail to show your father Amer, who will be proud of what you
have done.”
They all three set to work. Baruti cut two young
trees, which he barked. Simba made use of the bark as rope, and in a short time
a comfortable bed had been made, on which Mombo was carefully lifted, and, in a
few moments, Selim having secured his trophy, the three friends set out briskly
on their return to camp.
Young Selim, who had “bagged” his first game, was
highly gratified by the praise bestowed on him by his father and his father’s
people, and the braggart Isa was the only one of his boy-fellows who refused to
say a kind word in commendation of the feat. Noble young Khamis, on the other
hand, did not stint his appreciation of it, and youthful Abdullah and Mussoud
hung about Selim as though he were some suddenly-discovered hero. The chieftain
Khamis bin Abdullah, the noble leader of the united caravans, took from his
waist a gold-hafted curved dagger as a token of his esteem, and Sheikh Mohammed
presented him with a crimson silk sash to put around his waist. Sultan bin Ali,
the patriarch of the expedition, who was the very type of a venerable Arab
chief, gave him out of his treasure a red fez-cap with a golden tassel, and
Sheikh Mussoud gave him a Muscat turban of a rich cherry pattern, so that
Selim, before night, was arrayed in costly garments.
The slaves among themselves did Selim honour by
praising him around the camp-fires, and Halimah, the black woman-cook of Amer
bin Osman, as she turned her ugali (porridge), declared, by this and by that,
that Selim was the noblest, sweetest lad she had ever seen.
Selim would have slept that night the sleep of
those who do praiseworthy actions, had he not been awakened at midnight by a
loud shriek from one of his father’s slaves, whose right cheek was completely
ripped off by a prowling hyaena. The disturbance in the dead hour of night
alarmed some of the younger slaves, but they were calmed by the wise and
experienced Moto, who said sententiously that “the hyaena is a cowardly brute,
who would run away at the sight of a child in the daytime, and who could only
fight sleeping or dead men.”
After these incidents, which occurred at the
stagnant pools of the Lofu, the caravans continued, their march uninterruptedly
until they arrived among the Wahehe, a tribe of predatory people who live south
of the great arid plain country of Ugogo.
The first night, before going to sleep after their
arrival in Uhehe, the kirangozi of Khamis bin Abdullah rose up at the command
of his master—and spoke out in a loud voice to the united caravans:
“Words, words, words! Listen, ye children of the
Arabs, sons of the great chiefs, Khamis bin Abdullah, Amer bin Osman, Sultan
bin Ali, the Sheikhs Mussoud, Abdullah, Bashid, Hamdan, Thani, and Nasib! Open
your ears, ye people of Zanzibar! Ye are among the Wahehe. Ye are in the land
of thieves, and night-prowlers. Be wary and alert, my friends; sleep with one
eye open; let not your hands forget your guns. When ye meet the prowling Wahehe
in your camps at night, shoot and kill all such. Do ye hear?”
“We do,” was answered by six hundred voices.
“Do ye understand?” he again asked.
“Yes,” they all replied.
“It is well; the kirangozi Kingaru, slave of
Khamis bin Abdullah, has spoken.”
For two days they travelled through Uhehe without
molestation, but on the evening of the third day Sheikh Amer commanded his
tent-pitchers to set his tent close against the hedge of brush and thorn (which
always surrounds a camp in Africa when it is procurable), for the convenience
of his household, the members of which could thus by a slight gap pass in and
out freely to the pool to get water or to procure wood for the fire, without
being compelled to traverse the length of the camp.
A couple of hours before dawn, when people sleep
heaviest, and their slumbers are supposed to be soundest, Simba, who always
slept lightly at night, because of the responsible cares which a just and
faithful conscience ever imposed on him, was awakened by the crushing of a
twig. He never stirred, but continued his regular breathing as before, and
compelled his ears to do their duty to the utmost. After a little time his
quickened hearing was rewarded by the sound of a human foot pressing softly,
yet heavily, the ground near him. The gap, left imprudently open, which fronted
the tent-door of Amer bin Osman, was that to which his cautious gaze was
directed. By the light of the stars, which shine in Africa with unusual light,
he saw the very faintest resemblance to a human figure, which held in one hand
something darker than its own body, yet not so long, and in the other a long
staff, at one end of which there was a cold glimmer of faint light, or
reflection of light, which he supposed at once, and rightly, to be a spear.
That human figure was that of an intruder. A friend had never stood so long in
that gap, or advanced so stealthily. A wild beast would have advanced with as
much circumspection and caution—why not a human enemy? The instincts of both
man and beast are the same in the silence of night, when about to act
hostilely.
Simba still lay seemingly unconscious of
duty—unconscious of the danger which menaced the occupants of his master’s
tent; but could that human enemy have seen through the gloomy mist of night
those large, watchful eyes of the recumbent form stretched almost within reach
of him, he had surely hesitated before advancing another step towards that open
tent-door.
All seemed still, and the figure bent down and
moved in a crawling posture towards the open door, wherein lay Selim and his
father, unconscious of the dangerous presence of an armed intruder. But Simba’s
eyes were not idle, though silent. What thing on earth does its work so quietly
as the eye? They followed the crawling form unwinkingly, until it had half
entered the open door; then Simba raised his head, finally his body, upright to
its full gigantic height. The feet of the daring intruder were within tempting
reach of those long muscular arms if he but stooped, and Simba knew it. He
stood up one short second or so, as if he summoned threefold strength with the
lungful of air he but halted to inhale; then quickly stooping, he caught hold
of the robber’s feet, and giving utterance to a loud triumphant cry, swung him
two or three times around his head, and dashed his head against the great flat
stone on which, a few hours before, the woman-cook, Halimah, had ground her
master’s corn, and then tossed him lifeless over the hedge of the camp as
carrion!!
In an instant, as it were, the camp was awake, and
fires burned brightly everywhere. The cause of the disturbance was soon made
known all over the camp, and curious men came rushing by the score to the scene
of the tragedy, to gaze upon the victim of his own savage lust for plunder or
murder. Amer bin Osman, when he heard the explanation of Simba, took a torch,
and followed by Selim and others, went to gaze upon the dead man. One look
satisfied him that the man was a Mhehe, who had armed himself with a long
oval-shaped shield, broad-bladed spear, and battle-axe, for a desperate
enterprise.
When Amer raised his head, he seemed to be
studying what the intention of the man might have been, and he retraced his
steps backwards to the tent-door, and looked in, as if to consider what might have
been done, or stolen, had he succeeded in his attempt. Then, looking at Selim’s
pale face, who had also arrived at the same opinion as his father, a grateful
look stole over his features; he said to his son with a smile:
“Well, boy, thou hast to thank Simba for thy
safety, for thy head lay uncomfortably near that door; and hadst thou awakened,
thy life had not been worth much. What hast thou to say to Simba, Selim?”
The boy turned his large bright eyes upon Simba’s
face, which glowed with honest pride and affection, and then they measured the
giant limbs, the tremendous arms, and the broad heaving chest, and to his
father’s question propounded another, which rather startled his father:
“Simba is a great strong man, but whom dost thou
value more, father—thy son Selim or thy slave Simba?”
“Why, son of mine, what a question! Art thou not
the child of my loins, and of my dear Amina? and have I ever failed in my love
for thee?”
“Never—no, never, dear father; but Simba has given
thy son back again to thee, else had I been dead. Has Simba paid thee full
valuation for the purchase-money thou didst pay for him when he was a child?”
“Simba is good; but had I lost thee, I had surely
lost all. Thou hast said it, my child. Simba is free, and is no longer a slave of
Amer bin Osman.”
“Simba!” cried Selim, “good Simba, do you hear the
words of my father? You are a man, and no longer a slave!”
Simba at first did not seem to comprehend the full
meaning of the words addressed to him, but as the words of the boy whose life
he had saved were repeated to him, a proud smile lit his features, and as he
tossed his head back, while his nostrils dilated, he said:
“A slave! It is an ugly word; but Simba, of the
Wahuma, of Urundi, was in his own mind never a slave, so the word troubled him.
Simba might long ago have been free, had he wished it, but he loved his master,
Amer, and Sheikh Amer’s son; so he remained their servant, and while being
their servant he never forgot that he was a man. Simba is grateful to Amer and
his son Selim, and while he remembers that he is free, Simba will be happy only
in remembering also that he is their servant;” saying which, he bent his knee
and kissed the right hand of father and son.
“Ah, Simba, my friend!” cried Selim, “I shall call
thee friend in future, and thou shalt say ‘thou’ to me, and I ‘thou’ to thee,
as my father and I say to each other; and if thou art grateful, Selim has also
a heart, and can feel.”
“Then, boys,” said Amer, breaking in upon this
interchange of compliments, “to bed, and sleep your sleep out. Let a watch be
kept, lest the Wahehe robbers come to avenge the dead dog of a thief, and upon
the first appearance of anything suspicious, sound the alarm instantly.”
The night passed without further alarm or
disturbance of any kind, and at the usual hour of the morning the signal horns
aroused the camp for the fatigue of another day’s march.
As the caravans were about leaving their camp, a
group of Wahehe strolled up carelessly, similarly armed to the one who had met
his fate so suddenly at the hands of Simba. As they were advancing towards the
central gate of the camp, their quick eyes caught sight of the dead body of
their comrade, and hastening towards it, they regarded it with wonder depicted
on their faces. On stooping down to examine the head, they found it elongated
into a hideous, formless shape, and not being able to contain their surprise,
they questioned as to why and how it all came about.
Said Moto, who had keenly noted these signs, and
had approached the group to answer their expected queries, “Ah, my brothers!
some men are bad, very bad, and fools. What could have possessed this man to
try and rob a caravan of 600 armed souls, I cannot say, unless it was the evil
spirit. Do you see that big man with the great battle-axe in his belt, and a
long ivory horn slung to his shoulder? That big man caught this thief in the
tent of Amer bin Osman: he seized him by the feet, and whirling him around, he
brought his head down flat on that stone.”
“Eyah! eyah!” said the astonished Wahehe. “He must
be the evil spirit himself; but all thieves should die, and if, as you say,
this man was caught at night in the camp, he has earned his death.”
“Say you so, my brothers?” said Moto; “then it is
well. But listen to me; if the wind came to steal in our camp that big man
would know it. He seems never to sleep, never to rest; he could smell a Mhehe
at night afar off.”
“Eyah, eyah, ey-eyah!! He must be the evil
spirit.” Saying which they departed, muttering to themselves and looking very
much crestfallen.
The caravans journeyed on for several days after
the incidents just related without meeting anything worthy of note in these
pages. The western part of Uhehe is very uninteresting; one march follows
another through the same triste scenery. A long reach of country to the right
and the left, covered with short ripe grass, dotted with a ragged clump of
thorn-bush here and there, or a solitary baobab stem, unbending in its vast
girth and thickness of twigs, alone met the wearied eyes of the travellers. The
Wahehe, the southern Wagogo, mixed with a stray Wakimbu family or two,
permitted such a large caravan to pass without molestation, so that the march
was getting exceedingly monotonous. But when, after crossing an unusually arid
plain of some extent, they saw before them a long line of white rocky bluffs,
the people began to whisper among themselves that “beyond those bluffs lay the
lands of the populous Warori, who are mostly shepherds, and will not, if in the
mood to quarrel, regard our numbers or strength.”
It was the tenth week of the departure of the
Arabs from Simbamwenni when the above-mentioned bluffs were crossed, and the
pastoral country of the Warori extended far before them in a succession of
wooded hollows, bare uplands, and jungle-covered plains.
Those who knew Moto, the slave of Amer bin Osman,
were startled at the remarkable physical resemblance he bore to the majority of
the shepherds and villagers, who grouped themselves along the road to wonder at
the wealth of the Arab caravans, and to make their rustic comments upon what
they did not understand.
The Warori, however, did not seem disposed to
dispute their advance, but stood contentedly gazing at the strange sight of
some of the whiter faces among the Arabs. For instance, Khamis bin Abdullah and
his son Khamis, Amer bin Osman and his son Selim, and the boys Abdullah and
Mussoud. This paleness of complexion became often a matter of eager
speculation, and as those who, fortunately or unfortunately, possessed white
faces passed by, the straining of eyes and the narrow scrutiny were amusing to
witness, and afforded Selim more especially some discomfort at first. The
shepherds and villagers furthermore willingly bartered whatever the Arabs
wished for red beads and American domestic. Milk, butter, and eggs were
plentiful, which, to the Arab boys, were rare treats after the dry heat and
desolate aspect of Western Uhehe. The arms which these shepherds carried were
far more formidable than anything they had hitherto seen in the hands of savages.
Their bows were longer and heavier, and their arrows longer and more cruelly
barbed, and besides a lengthy broad-bladed spear, which resembled a broad Roman
sword fastened to a staff, and half a dozen lighter spears—assegais—and a
battle-axe, they carried a knife which might be likened to a broadsword for
length and breadth.
On the sixth day after their entrance into Urori,
the caravans came within sight of a large palisaded village called Kwikuru, or
the capital. It contained about eight hundred huts, strongly protected by a
lofty fence of hard red wood. This Tillage was protected on one side by a
stream of considerable magnitude. On the other side of the village was a grove
of fine trees situated from it a distance of about 1000 yards. Into this grove
the Arabs marched to encamp.
Kwikuru, or the capital, was a good distinction
awarded to the village, or town rather, for its size and importance; for, next
to Simbamwenni, it was the most populous place they had found in Africa. Cattle
grazed by the thousand a little distance off from the grove, attended by
watchful and well-armed herdsmen. The lowing of the cows, and the bleating of
the sheep and goats, and the braying of a few large donkeys, were welcome
sounds to travellers, to whom such sights in Africa were rare. And the long
extent of well-tilled ground, in which grew the Indian corn, the manioc, the
holcus sorghum, the sugar-cane, and plantain, with abundance of vegetables and
melons, enhanced the pleasure the Arabs’ people naturally felt, unaccustomed as
they were, since leaving Zanzibar, to feast their eyes upon such scenes.
Late in the afternoon, after the Arab chiefs had,
with commendable caution, constructed a dense hedge of bush and branches around
their camp, they called a meeting to discuss the measures they should take to
open friendly communication with the formidable citizens of Kwikuru.
When they were all assembled, the leader Khamis
said to them:
“My friends, we are at last in Urori, where I
suspect we shall have to conduct ourselves differently from what we have been
accustomed to. I mean that I fear that tribute may be exacted by the King, and
I have called you here to advise prudence, and to ask you to use tact in all
your dealings with them. We may have to pay a heavy tribute, for this King is
evidently powerful and rich, and a mean present of cloth I expect he will
refuse.”
“Khamis,” said Sultan bin Ali, “thou hast done
well to advise us upon this beforehand. What amount of cloth dost thou think
will suffice this man’s greed? We may be liberal, for we can afford it, but we
have not one doti (four yards) of cloth too much.”
The chief answered, “I do not know as yet what
amount will suffice, but let us begin prudently, for in that course is wisdom.
I suggest that six doti be made up; two doti (eight yards) of Joho cloth for
the King, two doti of light checks for his wife, one doti of Muscat check with
the red and yellow borders for his eldest son, and one doti of good Kaniki
(blue cotton) for the principal elder.”
“That idea seems excellent to me,” said Sultan bin
Ali, “and Amer, thou hast a cunning slave called Moto, a Mrori, I believe; let
him and another good man take the cloths to the King with words of friendship
from us, that we may pass through the country in tranquillity and peace with
all men.”
This advice meeting the approbation of all the
chiefs, Moto, accompanied by the kirangozi of Khamis bin Abdullah, who was
learned in all the languages of Eastern Central Africa, sallied out of the camp
in the direction of Kwikuru, while the Arabs sat in the tent of their leader,
hospitably entertained with the beet that the larder could furnish.
An hour had barely elapsed before Moto and the
kirangozi, or guide, returned to the camp; and going directly to the principal
tent, kneeled before the door and said to the Arabs:
“Salaam Aleikum!” (Peace be unto you.) To which
greeting the Arabs responded with one voice:
“Aleikum Salaam!” (And unto you be peace.)
“Well, Moto, speak,” said Khamis. “Why, you have
brought the present back! You have been unsuccessful?”
“These are the King’s words, which he commanded me
to tell you: ‘Why have you come to my country? Know you not that there is
enmity between the Warori and the children of the Arabs? Mostana, the great
chief whom the cruel traders slew, was my friend; and can I forget his death
with such a contemptible present as that which you have brought to me? Go
slaves, and tell your masters that, unless they send me fifty bales of cloth,
and fifty guns, with twenty barrels of gunpowder, they must return the way they
came.’ These, my masters, are the words which Olimali bade us tell you.”
A deep silence followed this declaration of the
King of Kwikuru, and the Arabs instinctively looked at one another in surprise
and dismay.
Sheikh Mohammed, the black-browed Arab, resolute
and determined as he always was, first broke the silence with the question,
directed to Moto:
“Have you regarded well this village of Olimali?”
“I have, master,” said Moto.
“Is it strong? Speak, for I respect your opinion,
Moto.”
“It is strong, master, much too strong for us to
attack it with our people. If the Warori come out of their village they could
not take this camp while our men remained within.”
“That is well-spoken, Moto,” replied Mohammed; and
turning to Sheikh Khamis, he asked:
“Hast thou decided what to do, son of Abdullah?”
“Mashallah! my friend, can I decide upon so
important a subject as giving away thy property to this greedy infidel? May his
soul perish in Al Hotamah! Does he think that cloth, and guns, and powder grow
in the jungles of Africa? But this is serious, and we must set on our heads the
caps of wisdom and understanding to consider the determination of Olimali.
Speak, friends, Arabs of Muscat and chiefs of Zanzibar, my ears are open.”
Out spoke Amer bin Osman: “Do you think, Moto, if
we offered half he would accept?”
“No, master, I do not. I think Olimali desires war
and not peace, and if he thought you would send fifty bales of cloth, he would
ask for fifty more. I heard the people talk, as I left the King’s presence, of
war. My ears are very sharp.”
“War!” shouted Mohammed, “then war he shall have,
and I shall have the pleasure to put light through his body with my good Shiraz
sword;” and Sheikh Mohammed looked as fierce as his threat.
“Peace, Mohammed, my friend,” said Sultan bin Ali.
“It is not everyone who trusteth in his sword flourisheth. I think there are
more ways of tiding over this evil hour than by war, even if we were doubly
strong with men and guns. Let us act prudently in the hour of danger.”
“Sultan bin Ali is right,” said Sheikh Thani.
“Rather let us try all pacific measures first, and let war be the last
resource. We have slaves, and women, and little ones in the camp, besides much
property. We must remember this before we act hastily.”
“Thani has spoken well, and with understanding;
and I propose that we send forty good cloths and forty ordinary cloths, besides
an odd gun or two, with half a keg of powder to Olimali by Moto and the
kirangozi, who will speak him fairly and with due respect,” said the leader,
Khamis.
“I do not go again,” said Moto. “What I have seen
in the village, and what my ears have heard are no light things, and I would
ask permission from my master to remain.”
“Well, never mind, any man will do who has a
smooth tongue and fair speech,” said Khamis. “Let the kirangozi choose whom he
will take, and let him go with the cloth.”
A man was readily found, who, ignorant of the
danger, had no reason to refuse to go upon the errand which the always bold
Moto had refused.
But even as the guide and his companion were
leaving the camp Moto saw he had acted wisely, for the cattle were being driven
towards the village with far more expedition than the time of day warranted;
but he held his tongue, not wishing to alarm the camp unnecessarily.
He followed the movements of the kirangozi and his
companion with exceeding interest until they had arrived at the gate, where
they were halted; and after a short pause, he saw the two men returning towards
the camp.
Proceeding to the gate of the camp, he there
awaited the arrival of the kirangozi, and when he was near enough Moto quietly
asked of him:
“Is it peace, or war?”
“War!”
He needed to hear no more, for he had been certain
of it, and he went directly to his friend Simba to communicate the news, who
received it with surprise.
“War, Moto? Then our fears, my friend, have turned
out true, and it is because of the battle which thou wert in with Kisesa
against Mostana, eh?”
“Yes, Simba; and wouldst thou believe it? I saw
two or three fellows eye me pretty hard, and it was for that I refused to go the
second time; for if they had known to a certainty that I was in that battle
thou wouldst never have seen Moto again, friend Simba.”
During the greater part of that night the Arabs
sat in council, debating how to proceed; but not agreeing, they separated for
the night, not, however, without posting sentinels all around the camp under
the charge of Sheikh Thani.
