There are times when such bars are terrible even to those accustomed all their lives to the sea, though, also, there are other occasions when by a fortunate conjunction of wind and tide there is nothing more than a long surging swell. This was not exactly the condition of affairs when we crossed the bar of the Kongone. The day dawned with a black, leaden sky, and heavy driving showers; there was a surly breeze and a short chopping, angry sea. With this weather, at seven o’clock two of the vessels made for the bar. Nothing could be seen at first but an unbroken white wall of angry rolling

4 UP THE ZAMBESI.

surf. On closer approach, one black streak seemed to break the line of the formidable barrier. This was the navigable passage. Through it the ships were steered by-bearings taken from certain trees, and a dilapidated flag-staff on an island close to the shore. The passage is always an. occasion of a few minutes of intense anxiety, according to the state of the weather; but at length we were over, and in a few minutes found ourselves at anchor in several fathoms of deep water in the channel of the Zambesi inside.

It was a bright, clear day, when sea and land lay in the full splendour of an African sun.

Home-dwelling readers draw terrible pictures of the African river delta. The very sound of the words is suggestive of prevalent malaria; of tidal mud and lagoonlike reaches of sluggish river meandering through hot and dreary plains of gigantic grass; of mosquitoes in numberless millions and mangrove swamps filled with the sensible effluvia of a profuse vegetation, and sheltering every low form of amphibious life that delights in ooze and revels in slime, with deadly fever lurking everywhere.

The picture is partly true and partly false, but at first your mind is certainly not filled with the contemplation of such horrors. And during the eight days we remained at Kongone the flat and featureless delta of the Zambesi did not seem so unsalubrious a place. One does not think of the unhealthiness till the fever has poisoned the blood and given a sombre hue to all one’s thoughts.

AT KONGONE. 5

This danger is caused in part by those extensive mangrove swamps. I went one day alone to examine and satisfy myself as to what a mangrove swamp was.

Every one has heard of a mangrove swamp, but what it is exactly like,, very few can tell. After passing through half a mile of dry sandy soil, covered with coarse grass, dwarf palms, acacias, and a species of strychnos, bearing a fruit in size, and colour, and hardness exactly like a cricket ball, I found myself on the edge of a wood of straight, slender, handsome-looking trees, with large shining leathery leaves. These were the mangroves,' looking, except for their arched roots, nothing like the repulsive monsters of the vegetable world we usually take them to be. They , are singular trees, nevertheless.

This forest rose out of a soil of black mud, on which grew not a single blade of grass, and which was covered with little pools containing the dirty water of the last tide. In every direction creeks and ditches intersect the swamp. There is great difficulty, in making way over ground so treacherous. The roots of the trees are sometimes horizontal, but mostly arched. These form, if not the surest, at least the most firm stepping-places, slippery though they are. The heat, the humidity, the mass of green foliage above, the gloom and the sliminess below, and the silence everywhere, convey the irresistible impression that you are in a place, unfit for human life.

As I sat on a dangerous perch above the mud, not a,

6 UP THE ZAMBESI.

sound reached my ear but the sharp chick of a gaily-dressed kingfisher, perched on his short legs in the branches overhead. He was a little spot of living colour—of vivid ultramarine and saffron—and looked at me with those large black eyes, full of confidence and wonder, which give so peculiar an expression to this bird’s face. At

the hours of the greatest heat of the day most of the life of the mangrove swamp is taking its rest.

Earlier or later in the day there are signs of abundant life among the mangroves. Things that live in ooze, and plague the naturalist to say what is their rank or place in the world of living beings, find a safe and congenial

FLAMINGOES ON THE BANKS OF THE ZAMBESI.

AT KONGONE. 9

home. Millions of crabs, of different sizes and colours, multitudes of blennies and gobies, and other mud-loving fish of the same family, with the same unfish-like conduct of straying out of the water, poke about on the soft banks. Crocodiles lurk in the deeper creeks, or lie like a mud-covered log by the more shallow waters, warming their slow blood in the sun. On the sides of open reaches of water there are great flocks of birds, chiefly flamingoes, which wade about and fish in the shallower pools for food.

The formation of land is the real work of these strange amphibii of the plant-world. They lead a singular life, growing and flourishing where other trees die, and dying where others live. Their work having been accomplished, they move further out towards the tide to renew their encroachments on the sea.

I returned from the swamp late in the afternoon, covered with mud and drenched with sweat, and with those peculiar head symptoms that sun and mangrove effluvia alone can produce.

We sailed into the main stream by a canal some six or seven miles long, but so narrow that the paddle-boxes of the steamer brushed aside the waving and luxuriant underwood of the virgin African forest; and the sound of the paddle-floats, as they struck the water in the quiet morning air, seemed a strange disturbance to the primeval stillness of these woods.

After leaving the belt of mangroves, which varies in depth with the reach of the tide, we sailed very slowly

10 UP THE ZAMBESI.

day by day through a vast grassy plain. The flatness of its expanse was broken here and there by clumps of Palmyra and cocoa-nut palms ; of lignum-vitae trees, mimosas, and sycamores, and the enormous, grotesque,

gigantic, and long-lived baobab. Scattered over the plain there were also the brown roofs of small native villages, the abodes of the dwellers in the hot and damp delta.

AT KONGONE. 11

In the delta of the Zambesi, the population must .at one time have been much greater than it is now. How many thousands of those who were born on the banks of that river now sleep, after a miserable existence, in a slave’s grave in Brazil and Cuba, and elsewhere, no one can say. .All Central Africa has much the same history. The astonishing thing about the history of that continent, after so many centuries of depopulation by the export slave-trade, and all the wars and villanies to which it gives rise, is, that the whole country is not a vast desert, tenanted only by wild beasts. It was said that one time • this horrible trade was carried on with such frightful success on the lower Zambesi, that the country was rapidly becoming a desert; and the wholesale deporta-.ti'on of ,the unhappy people was only stopped by the efforts of the Portuguese home government.

At sundown we cast anchor and proceeded to the shore. ; ^ '

The nij^ht was quiet and still, as only nights in the African wilderness can be, when about'twelve. o’clock the stillness was in a moment broken by a tremendous ’ clanging of the large bell on board the Nyassa". We seized our guns, which, for life in that country, have always to, be kept ready, and rushed down in breathless haste to the water’s edge, and shouted in the darkness,—

“ On board there ! what’s the matter,? ”

A voice, which we recognised as that of Macleod, the Scotch blacksmith, replied,—

“ Sir, sir ! come a’boord ! ”

12 UP THE ZAMBESI.

We pushed off, and got on board, and found Macleod standing by the cabin door, in a state of great alarm. He explained that he had been roused out of his sleep by the sound of irons striking against the ship’s side, and by men clambering on board. He was very weak, poor fellow, from illness at the time, and not very well able to defend himself. He also said,—

“ There are two men forward there down on the deck. There may be more. Take care.”

.We approached cautiously, even though we were well armed, and had now got a light. But we found nothing to fight with. Instead, found, crouching down on the deck, two poor creatures, lads of about eighteen or twenty, chained together by. a few links round the ankle, and an iron bar of about twenty inches connecting the two. They did not utter a single word, but simply looked up at us with imploring glances, as if their position would tell their sad story best, and as if to say, “Here we are, trying to escape from these chains and slavery. Help us, Englishmen ! ”

The dumb appealing misery of these two poo* lads will haunt me as long as I live. They were two slaves being carried down to the coast. They had stopped for the night on an island opposite Shupanga, their owner probably thinking they would, with the others he had, be more safe there than on the mainland. But they managed to escape, had seized a small canoe, a mere skiff, and had paddled up by the side of the island till they got fairly into the stream, and then taking advantage

AT KONGONE. 18

of the current, had made in the darkness a desperate shot at th3 ship, and having brought their canoe alongside,

allowed it to float away in the stream, and clambered up the iron sides of what seemed to them an ark of

14 UP THE ZAMBESI.

safety. Their bold venture implied considerable skill, as well as nerve and daring. The slightest motion of either of their bodies made a clanking noise by the movement of their heavy chains. How they managed to get out of the huts, and escape from their keepers without noise, to get a canoe in a place strange to them, and most of all to make for the ship so successfully, and climb up its steep sides, for there was no ladder on that side by which they entered, and the ship, being light, was high out of the water, is to me, even at the distance of many years,' a cause of frequent wonder.

The dangers as well as the difficulties were many. The night was dark, the island unknown, the current was swift, and the river deep. Crocodiles were abundant; two lives had been lost at that spot shortly before; and had either of them missed his footing on the ship’s side, chained together as they were, it was certain death to both. But there they were; and, as I have said, they simply looked up at us, as they lay uncomfortably huddled together by their short chains, their naked bodies covered with mud and wet.

We got them ashore, took them to the house, and gave them supper and a mat to sleep on. The worst part of the story remains to be told.

Early next morning their merciless master came to claim them. He was probably put on the right scent by the uproar of that unfortunate bell. He was determined to have them; resistance was useless. It was a miserable moment when we saw those two poor sons of

AT KONGONE. 15

wretchedness and ignorance hobble off to a life of misery. The future promises little to a slave. What, vile punishment they may have endured for this attempt to escape, themselves and God in heaven only know. That they suffered is certain. At the back of that same house I have seen three grown men, for a slighter offence than trying to escape, tied, stripped naked, laid on their faces on the earth, and flogged by relays of powerful men, one standing on each side, till skin in large flakes and blood in abundance flew about under the tremendous blows of broad heavy thongs of hardened hide, and till the unhappy victims were unable to rise, and had to be lifted up and taken away.

As we passed up the river the people came down from their villages to look at the steamer as it passed. They are willing to trade in anything or everything, and as we were dependent on them in great part for supplies of fuel, the trade in wood was the most thriving.

UP THE ZAMBESI.

CHAPTER II.

AT SHUPANGA.

THE river here is more than a mile wide ; and in flood a great volume of water sweeps down between its flat banks. It is full of low grassy islands. In the dry season the channel contains numerous bars and sandpits, which make the upward voyage very tedious.

Shupanga is about a hundred miles up the river. Here the blue tops of Morumbala mountains appear in the distance, and afford a pleasing change of landscape. We cast anchor close to a beautiful grove of mangoes. These handsome trees look at a little distance like fine English elms or beeches, but with a denser foliage, and produce the most delicious of all tropical fruits.

To see the country, and to witness the operation of canoe-building on a large scale, I went a short journey of

AT SHUPANGA. 17

three days back from the river. I had as my guide half an African, half a Chinaman, by courtesy called the Senhor, who was going into the interior to look after canoes for his employer at Quillimane.

The tall six-feet grass that covers the country was still bending under the very plentiful dew with which the African summer night wets the thirsty earth, when we started with a considerable following of natives. An

hour’s travel brought us to a neat and small village among little fields of maize, millet, manioc, sweet potatoes, and ground-nuts. These, with bananas, and four or five different sorts of beans, form the staff of life in this part of Africa.

The day’s journey led us through alternate belts of forest and open grassy country, very flat and rich in soil, judging from the height of the grass and the size of the timber. Through the forest the path is laby-

18 UP THE ZAMBESI.

rinthine enough, but the shade is cool and refreshing, and there is a damp, leafy, earthy scent as of warm palm-houses in botanic gardens at home. Small antelopes were abundant below, and birds, baboons, and monkeys in the branches above. The flora is not so diversified as on hills, but there is a considerable variety

of species, and also of grotesqueness as well as elegance of form in stem and leaf in these dense forests.

Suddenly we emerged from the cool shade and pleasant gloom of the woods on an open grassy belt, on the edge of which lay a small lake. In the hot, languid afternoon

AT SHUPANGA. 19

air it lay in lagoon-like stillness. Its margin for many miles was covered with a deep fringe of blossoms of large white water-lilies.

Snow-white ardettas, beautiful airy-Iooking creatures, steel-grey cranes, and black-winged red-beaked plotuses rose in flocks at our approach, and floated away through the warm atmosphere with their easy, sailing, dreamy flight. Black and white hornbills, more wary and shy, more keen of sight and stronger of wing, sat on the tops of distant trees uttering their hard, horny note; Water-buck and antelopes of various species were grazing peacefully on the gentle grassy slopes, and standing in the, shade of small clumps of young trees that grew on the soil of old ant-hills. Large hippopotami lifted their square box-looking heads out of the tepid waters, to examine the string of bipeds that wound round the margin of the lake. They looked towards the shore, blew through their huge nostrils little jets of spray, and with stolid, heavy snorts, that seemed to come from cavernous depths of lungs, sank half-satisfied, half-doubtful, into the depths below, only to reappear in a minute or two, shaking the water from , their small ears, to stare and snort and dive again to the bottom.

I stood still to look at this scene of tropical grandeur and beauty, that it might be for ever among the pictures of memory. I wondered what effect it had on my companions. Africans, as a rule, are not thrown into ecsta-cies by striking views and grand glimpses; and if poetic feelings arise in those dark breasts, few poetic words

20 UP THE ZAMBESI.

burst from those. full lips. But it would be unjust to say that Africans are insensible to the beauty of external nature.

We had still some distance to go, and we passed on rapidly, leaving deer and hippopotami undisturbed by a single shot. About sundown the maize and millet fields we again entered told us we were close to the village of Tambara. Some women who were drawing water at a well recognised my companion, ran home*, mustered the available female force of the village, and, came out again to escort us to the place where the men were standing. There was much clapping of hands and calling out of “ Moio, moio ! ” “ Sir, sir ! ” and a good deal of a vocal process by the women, which can only be described by the word lullilooing !

Sesa, the head-man, was not at home, but the next in order received us under a large tree. We were conducted to an open space in the centre of the village, mats were spread for us to sit down, and fires-kindled immediately.

The antelope and monkey which had been shot on the journey were skinned and on the way for supper, and in an hour a savoury steam of monkey stew was issuing from one of the large black pots. It is one of the customs of the country that he who kills the animals shall first eat thereof, and so they brought me a large dish of this stew, and asked me to eat. But I had no longing after monkey meat, and bid them use it themselves.

AT SHUPANGA. 28

Nothing so half human as monkey flesh has ever defiled my lips; and after alligator I have never wiped my mouth and said “ I have enough ! ” Elephant flesh, however, though strong, is very good; and fresh hippo-

potamus steaks, to my taste, very much better. I have often been glad to get either. Neither could I detect in hippopotamus, either roast or boiled, that strong porky

24 UP THE ZAMBESI.

flavour of which. some complain. Elephant soup is likewise good, better the second day than the first,¹ as it is improved by long boiling, .and when well made is thick, gelatinous, and nutritious.

Instead of monkey, I got some antelope, and the • Senhor and I supped together. He plied a bottle containing a strong and coarsely-distilled spirit, the product of the cashew-nut and other fruits. He invited me to drink, but I had no wish to invite a fever by drinking ■ such fiery stuff, and therefore declined. I made some tea, and this also was not disagreeable to the Senhor’s taste.

As the moon rose broad and full above the tall trees that encircled the village and cleared land, I took a walk through the place, to see its evening life, and then retired to the hut in which I was to sleep. I was still lying in the darkness thinking over a few verses I had .read, when I was startled by a tremendous peal of large drums, and that measured clapping of the hands which calls the African villages to the katieka, or dance.

It was impossible now to sleep, and as the festivities promised to be on a large scale, I got up to see. The women and children sung and clapped their hands: the drums were beaten by the men. Both men and women danced, and performed movements not always very graceful or refined.

There was a suffocating amount of dust, and heat, and smoke, and sweat, and noise disturbing and polluting the

AT SHUPANGA. 25

cool pure moonlight air of that beautiful night. It was the enjoyment of the villagers, however. Two things only could make such amusements bearable : bounding animal spirits, and ignorance of anything better. A good

deal of the rollicking savagism of Africa rests on these two causes. But as people get older, the animal spirits lose their spring. And some of the older women I noticed seemed to enjoy this fun no more than if they

26 UP THE ZAMBESI.

had been at . their heavy daily task of hoeing land or pounding corn in the banda, or native mortar.

I got tired, and after a time slipped away quietly out of the crowd to my hut. The noise of revelry by night still rang from end to end of the village, but I fell into a sound slumber on my reed bed.

We started early next morning, and about noon reached the place in the forest where the canoes were building. There we found a large number of fallen trees of immense size; the wood being of the same hardness as mahogany. The trees had been felled partly by small axes, and partly by fires kindled at the base of the stem. About twenty nearly naked men were at wdrk on these trunks with small hatchets and adzes of native manufacture. With- these light axes and by kindling small fires in the middle line of the tree, after many days, or rather many weeks of labour, the first rude form is given to the primitive vessel. It has then to be transported to the river, which may be twenty miles distant. Ropes of strong fibrous creepers, with which the African forest abounds, are then attached to the half-finished ship. Rude rollers are prepared; and the men, women, and. children of the nearest village, and subsequently of all the villages on the route, are then summoned. They lay hold of the rough cables, and with an immense deal of pulling, and still more noise and shouting, the hollow trunk begins to move, and for the next fortnight or three weeks makes slow daily journeys to the bank of the river. There it receives the finishing touches, and with-

AT SHUPANGA. 27

out either plane or chisel, a wonderful degree of smoothness is given to it, both inside and out. An iron ring is fitted into the bow : a large and clumsy helm astern; and the launch is then completed. The largest of these canoes will carry about forty men, or about three tons of goods ; and on the lower Zambesi they are worth about £14 to £16 each.

I saw more of the country and of the life of the people before I left; but as the Senhor had to remain to look after the building of this primitive fleet, I returned to Shupanga, with five native companions, by a somewhat different route from that which I had come.

In these regions the lion used to be frequently met with, but in recent years, since- explorers have broken in upon its retirement, “the king of the forest” has withdrawn to neighbourhoods of more congenial quiet, much to the safety of the cattle and comfort of the people here.

Of the great strength of the African lion there is well- • authenticated evidence. More easily than a fox carries off a goose from an English farmyard, he carries off from the farms of Africa horses and oxen of full size. Hunters who have pursued this robber have been able to observe that he can do this for as much as five miles without more than once or twice putting down his enormous burden for rest, and in his journey leaping broad dykes.

He usually lies in wait for his prey in the night, neat streams and pools of water, to which he expects antelopes, giraffes, and other beasts to come down to drink,

28 UP THE ZAMBESI.

choosing some concealed spot amongst the long reeds which grow along its banks. The natives tell incredible stories of adventure with this cunning brute, usually with the view of showing themselves off as more cunning still.

One relates how a villager once went to a pool of water, intending to fill some vessel with water and return

to his home. It was in the cool of the evening, but still light. The pool was sheltered from the scorching sun by the shade of a clump of trees which grew around, and by long grass and reeds which spread out over the neighbourhood.

When he had reached the water, and was in the act

AT SHUPANGA. 29

of stooping to fill his bottle, or whatever else it might be, he heard a sound which the unarmed and unprotected never hear without fear. It was the growl of a lion near him. Instantly he turned and looked up to that part of the bank from which the sound came. The lion

was in the act of springing. Panic-struck, the poor fellow fell to the ground.

Nothing could have been more fortunate, for by this time the lion had made its mark and its spring, and was in the air. But by his falling at that very instant of

30 UP THE ZAMBESI.

time, the lion shot right over him, and the next moment was floundering in the pool.

Seizing his chance, the man at once sprang to his feet, and ran, or almost leaped, to the nearest tree. Nimble of both hand and foot—for men are nimble of both where there is no ladder, and they must climb for what they want—he climbed the tree up to its first branch. Then he turned to look for his foe.

The lion, having speedily recovered itself, had followed the man, and when he turned to look, was just beneath him, falling from a point on the trunk of the tree to which, in pursuit, it had sprung. Another inch higher, and its paws had reached him, and dragged him to the ground. Though not yet the lion’s prey, the poor fellow was at least the lion’s prisoner. Exasperated by its plunge into the pool, still further exasperated by its fall from the trunk of the tree, it had formed a deadly resolve. There it sat at the foot of the tree, panting with rage, lashing the ground with its tail, and with open mouth disclosing its terrible fangs to the poor fellow above. A gun would have released the prisoner, but he had no gun, and no friendly help was near. It now became a question as to who could sit longest—the man on the branch, or, the lion on the ground.

The night came on, and with the night the increased activity of the lion. He growled and switched his tail, and seemed resolved on another spring. Now and again he rose and walked about, but never lost sight of his victim.

AT SHUPANGA.

The night passed, and the morning came. Attracted by some, animal which had thought it safe to visit the pool in the light, the lion rose and rushed away to the pool. In an instant down leaped the imprisoned man, and with feet fleet as feet do become in ■ lands where danger frequently occurs, he flew rather than ran towards his home. Soon he was out of the long reeds and in the open plain. Then he knew the lion would not follow him. And so ended this perilous adventure, and the escaped man safely reached his hut.

On the return march I first witnessed the use of the fire-stick, by which the African in his native wilds supplies himself with fire by means of friction, without the aid of flint or steel, or any of the modern applications of phosphorus.

UP THE ZAMBESI.

CHAPTER III.

TO KEBRABASA RAPIDS.

FROM Shupanga, early in November, I started for Kebrabasa. For my journey I got a canoe of medium size, not one of the larger size, but a light craft, and easily managed by a crew of seven or eight men. Over this was placed a rude roof of grass, intended to keep off the sun and dew, and the rain in the rainy season.

Into this hollow tree, of a kind of wood exactly resembling mahogany, I placed some food, cooking utensils, guns, ammunition, a few books, and the indispensable journal. There were also some blankets, a quantity of cloth and beads, the two latter being the chief currency, or at least a negotiable form of it, in all the wide realm of African barbarism. The rate of exchange on this,

TO KEBRABASA RAPIDS. 85

however, is not always the same, for the fashion in beads • is most capricious. Fashion is' even more sharp and .. short here than in England. The shape and colour which one year are at a premium may be absolutely unsaleable -in the year after.

The only'civilised provisions I carried were a plentiful supply of good tea, a small quantity, of sea-biscuit, and some sugar. Wheaten bread is one of the greatest luxuries the traveller in Africa can enjoy. The substitute is the universal nsima, or stiff porridge, made from' the flour of the millet, which forms the staff of life over great part of Africa.

The start is always a matter of difficulty, and on a long journey in Africa there are always two—the little start and the big start. It is only after some labour that you get your crew mustered on the bank. • Their wives and friends come down to see them off; - and as a measure of consolation to their sorrowing partners, you. must leave behind you a good measure of cloth to each.

You get . cautiously into your canoe, and sit down well forward. The paddlers sit in the stern. One man keeps the bow and manages the look-out with a long pole. He is the Ttadamwe, or captain. Everything being ready, he gives a shout, which is taken up by the rest and prolonged into a song; the paddles of your brave mariners strike the water, and your frail craft so nicely balanced and so easily capsized is fairly off on a voyage of a few.weeks or months, and—for whatever the African wilderness may bring to you.

36 UP THE ZAMBESI.

The first evening I spent alone on the river remains deeply impressed on my mind. In the afternoon it came on to blow, and we had to put into a quiet creek. The canoe was moored by some trees—remarkable for their beautiful purple flower and curious fruit—a long,

solid fibrous mass, weighing from six to ten or twelve pounds, which is afterwards developed from the flower.

Towards sunset the wind fell, and the life that peopled the creek only added to its loneliness. The gentle snowy

TO KEBRABASA RAPIDS. 37

ardettas alighted among the reeds on the opposite bank. The guinea fowl came to roost in numbers on the trees overhead. The long-legged herons and cranes came home from their fishing all day in the pools and shallows of the river, and sunk down among the grass and trees at

the upper end of the creek. As the moon rose on the horizon up also came the hippopotamus to browse among the young reeds. A chorus of frogs croaked by the hour without seeming to weary. Fish of different sorts leapt

38 UP THE ZAMBESI.

every minute out of the water to catch the mosquitoes and other twilight insects. By-and-by the men on their mats, or fumbos, snored loudly by the fire on the bank, and listening' to tliese sounds I fell asleep in the bottom of my canoe.

In ascending the river it is necessary to keep close to the bank, using long punting poles where the water is shallow, and paddles where it is deep. In descending it is better to keep well out into the stream, and by taking advantage of the strong and rapid current as much as from fifty to sixty miles a day may be accomplished on the downward journey, while on the upward voyage the average will. be only from twelve to fourteen miles. Sometimes the canoe is pushed along by bare banks with only the invariable six-feet grass ab.ove; at other times you are paddled along beneath the pleasant and friendly shade of a variety of overhanging trees; and again you

pass by a tall wall of green reeds many miles long, and

festooned by a light purple convolvulus of considerable beauty, which you are always glad to see and to greet, as it has_i a more home-like look than the wilderness-loving reed.

Paddling is heavy work, and in the afternoons the

men cross their arms round their necks and say, “Da-

neta,” “I am tired.” You set this down to African indolence, and urge them on, though they have been at work since sunrise. They obey, but in a short time the blade of the paddle again rests in the water, or is laid on the side of the canoe, and the wearied arms of the

TO KEBRABASA RAPIDS. 39

paddler are clasped round his neck to give the.wearied muscles rest. You are inexperienced, and not at all worn out by work, and you will show these lazy Africans how you can use a paddle ! Half-an-hour’s splashing makes you glad to resign your paddle, after having produced a, good deal of grinning among your crew, and drenched yourself with perspiration; and generally thereafter you allow them to rest within reasonable limits when they ask to do so. I doubt if any white man could, without long experience, go through a day’s paddling in that strong current with the same unmurmuring patience and steady perseverance as these poor Africans.

Towards sundown you must look out for a place in which to pass the night, and you choose some eligible part of the bank which is high and dry, with wood near for fires, or at least last year’s dry reeds in default of trees. You cannot go to the villages, because this occupies time, and necessitates your leaving the canoe. It is not always possible to get a high and dry bank, and many a night I have camped on a sand-spit not more than six inches above the level of the river, or sometimes in swampy places on soft spongy soil, which yielded with a disagreeable spring to the tread of one’s foot.

Having selected a spot, the canoe is moored alongside; all necessary gear for camping is thrown out on the bank, and the men set up some fires. ' Your native lad commences to prepare what may have been shot during the day. In lack of heavy game, birds are generally to be got.

.40. /UP THE ZAMBESI.

Wild ducks at certain parts' are found in enormous numbers. When alarmed, they run together, and present the appearance of one solid body with innumerable outstretched necks and heads above, and legs below. -They' are easily shot, _ and excellent when roasted, on wooden-spits before a good jfire.' There are also two kinds of geese, very difficult -to shoot,, but worth’an effort, from their size‘and weight, and goodness of their-flesh. ■ ■ .'

And about sunset there are. many things that will attract your attention, in the appearance of the sky, and. the' altering hues of river ancl shore under the quickly- . changing light of the short tropical evenings. , One sight always attracted my notice—the long strings of water-fowl on their homeward evening flight, to their ■ resting-places among the untrodden marshes and lagoons.

An hour has been consumed in this way, and then your lad will ■ have spread your meal on a mat on the ground, and will come and invite you to eat. Despite of the rough cooking going on at the fire opposite, your food will be carefully and cleanly prepared; and if you are in health, you will not quarrel with it. I hay e. seen^v the crew’s porridge stirred with a paddle, and _served in a straw hat.

After supper, the men will then-have some talk by the fire, not always quiet talk, for sometimes it is very uproarious. If you sleep early, you will be awakened very soon.

Round the camp fires they have their own simple

TO KEBKABASA RAPIDS. 41

stories to tell, their somewhat heavy jokes to crack; and little serves to set them .off in continuous roars of laughter. Some., of them are very good-mimics, and among them, as among a party-of travellers with ourselves, there is. always some less ^ fortunate individual who is made the butt of all the jokes, and on ^: whose head-is placed_the. blame of all the mishaps and blunders' of-the day. If a'paddle or.punting-pole has fallen into the. stream and been carried down, or a pot has been broken, or a sleeping-mat has fallen into the water, and . will therefore be damp-and comfortless for the night, it. is. this unfortunate individual who has done it all; and he,, poor fellow, gets the. wet mat to sleep in, though every one knows perfectly well he was blameless in the matter. . .

Zingoparwe, a lanky, good-natured, but soft fellow was the scapegoat on one of these journeys. And but . for his yielding good-nature, his days must have been rendered bitter and his nights miserable by the incessant joking of a squat little . fellow with a big head, and a cross-cut, determined face,, who was the wag of the party: . His imitations, of Zingoparwe’s shrill, cracked voice and foolish ideas, constantly, convulsed the rest with laughter, and have often for a time driven gloomy thoughts from my own mind.

I have frequently thought how different would have been the lot of this squat man if his skin had been white instead of coffee-coloured, for he was not a dark African, and if he had had the good fortune to have been edu-

42 UP THE ZAMBESI.

cated. He was not fond of work, and seemed to have a sonl above the paddle, as if conscious he was fit for higher things'. > He was frequently ill with fever, he said, and lying in the bottom of the canoe; and though I suspected him, I never pressed him to work, as his irrepressible humour was the life of the rest. One day, when I had shot a pelican, he cut off the lower mandible which forms the pouch of that bird, and which is capable of enormous distension; and of this he formed something between a cap and a helmet, and wore it for a week. No harlequin was ever half so absurdly dressed as this native Momus in his ridiculous mask.

Weariness from the heavy toils of the day, however, and satiety from their meal, sooner or later overcome the group of black muscular figures who sit round the fires,' and in a few hours the camp presents only the appearance of a number of objects, very like the cocoons of some gigantic insect, lying round the decaying embers. The sleepers are in their fumbos, or mats woven from the fronds of a small palm.

In this journey I passed a large number of villages. None of them are very large, but they are pretty frequent. Their names do not as yet live in story or in song; and as they would not interest my readers, I shall not mention them.

There are tens of thousands of such places on Africa’s broad continent, whose unwritten history the past has wholly swallowed up. • Yet in them live multitudes who are moved to laughter and to tears by the very same

TO KEBRABASA RAPIDS. 45

things that move us. We who dwell in abiding cities of solid stone, with our busy life, rich and full with the ripened thought of all the past, and the giant works of present art to minister to all our wants, can hardly realise the life that millions of our species pass in these villages that exist for a few years, and, once forsaken, leave no ruins behind.

We went a second excursion as far as Magomero, and in the blackened remains of several burnt villages, witnessed the horrid work of the slave-traders. Attacks are made upon the almost defenceless inhabitants with gun and sword and fire. Men who shrink from no atrocity are hired for the bloody work. The natives make a hopeless stand against the attack, which consummates its victory by slaughtering the aged and reducing the houses to ashes.

The one thing which more than anything else tends to keep the African continent in a state of social chaos, intellectual torpor, and spiritual death, is the accursed slave-trade. This is still carried on by Spanish, and probably also Portuguese ships ; and by rascally Arabs in their sneaking little dhows. The import into the small island of Zanzibar by the activity of those Arab traders sometimes amounts to twenty thousand slaves annually.

For you, as the traveller, if you have no white companion, there are two things now to do.

Look to your gun and to your God—for in this kind of life you must have both constantly with you. Place

46 UP THE ZAMBESI.

your gun under the edge of your mat or blanket to protect it from the dew; and yet so place it that it will not go off during the night, to maim or murder its owner. And having done this, commend yourself with true gratitude and confidence to the care of Him whose presence fills all space, and whose unwearying goodness goes following you about everywhere, and then, with the stars above you as your only watchers, you may fall into sleep as sweet and secure in the open African wilderness as in the busiest haunts of civilised men.

Cool and refreshing slumbers in hot countries one can enjoy only by sleeping under the open heaven. Next morning you will awake vigorous and refreshed, unless some of the malarious poison is already mingling with your blood. If so, you are restless and feverish, cross and ill-tempered to your men, and take the most desponding views of human affairs, even to the length of cursing Africa and Africans in one indiscriminate and mighty malediction. And thus you will remain, until by calomel, quinine, and a profuse perspiration, the poison has been expelled and the brain relieved.

UP THE ZAMBESI.

CHAPTER IV.

to kebkabasa rapids.—(Continued.)

mHE awaking is damp. The grass and bushes are all glittering with the plentiful dew, and your mosquito curtain is hanging in dripping folds. At certain seasons also a heavy mist hangs on the river—caused by the temperature of the air being much lower than that of the water.

Little dressing is required—simply because there is little undressing. A wash by the river side, in water cool and refreshing, you pull on your boots and coat, and your simple toilette for the day is complete. You can breakfast before starting, or go on immediately till ten or eleven o’clock, and then stop for a couple of hours, when you go on again till sunset, repeating yesterday again to-day. There is the same paddling and punting,

48 UP THE ZAMBESI.

there are the same long walls of festooned reeds, the¹ same overshadowing tree-fringed banks of mimosas, sycamores, and kigelias, the same grassy islands, occasional villages, and staring natives.

On the quieter part of the river, and still in increasing number, are the crocodiles—sometimes by ones or twos, sometimes by twenties or thirties—a horrid muster, all sunning themselves on the bank or sand-pits, and, to the unpractised eye, looking like so many trunks of trees left by the receding river. They seem asleep, but as you approach they will noiselessly glide in the safe depths below. A rifle-ball sent among them before they are aware of danger produces a frightful commotion, as they throw themselves down the bank into the water in pell-mell confusion, alarm, and anger.

The mischief done by the crocodile is very great; probably not a day passes that many lives are not lost on some of the rivers by the sneaking rapacity and’ amphibious tricks of these dangerous brutes. It is one of those few animals for the death of which no pity or regret is felt. There are several creatures of this class —the snake in all its forms is also one. Black African and white European alike feel a kind of grim satisfaction when the earth is rid of their presence by one less. On what this feeling rests it would not be easy to say. It is not the idea of mere danger, for there are, other animals as dangerous as the crocodile. Perhaps form and structure have something to do with this intense dislike —and yet, poor brute, he is as he is made.

TO KEBRABASA RAPIDS. 49

No one who has seen the eye of an angry crocodile within a few yards of him will easily forget its savage glare, or the cold sinister expression which constantly falls from that pnpil of yellowish green. N.o one, I think, can look at that eye without a curious mixture of fear, dislike, and horror. Still I think I have seen its analogue in the human face, though fortunately only on rare occasions.

Eyes might form an, amusing and instructive study. I generally paid a good deal of attention to their expression in the animals that were new to me.

In contrast to the malicious light expressed in that reptilian look, the puzzled, nonplussed stare of. the hippopotamus is always amusing, if you suddenly come upon him without giving him time to collect his senses.

The eye of the fish-eagle seemed always to indicate an extraordinary mixture of indomitable courage and mildness. This bird was often shot as food for the men; and everything but fear seemed to be expressed in that clear round eye, even when it was being closed in death. It seemed, further, to possess an expression of generous reproach, as much as to say, “ Well, you might have done better than this—deprive me of dear life when I have never harmed you.” The weak, foolish expression of the flamingo, - the pelican, and the histrionic duck, is also a well-marked characteristic of each of them.

In the shallow water on the sand-pits, or on the banks of little reedy islands, you will see the graceful heron

50 UP THE ZAMBESI.

and crane in many varieties, not gregarious, but generally solitary and sad-looking. He has a lean and hungry look, and such birds are dangerous when wounded, because the tallest of them is about five feet high, and armed with a bill long and strong, and nearly triangular) like a bayonet, and if you are not wary he will strike tc

the effusion of blood, and even to a serious wound. There are many smaller species ; some snow white, some blue and white and grey, and all marked by that buoyant flight that belongs to the heron race.

Overhead there are flocks of sailing pelicans—gregarious birds, with great capacity of pouch, great spread

TO KEBRABASA RAPIDS. 51

of wing, a sailing flight, and of the size of a full-grown swan ; not bad to eat at any time, and specially good when you have nothing else to eat. Sometimes you come upon a number of them resting on the bank at noon or sunset. At a distance, from their habit of rest-

ing, or sitting down, on their short legs, they look like a flock of sheep rather than a flock of birds. There are far showier birds on the river, but, from their size and whiteness, the pelicans are always conspicuous objects.

52 UP'..THE ZAMBESI.

There is also the Para Africana, that walks on the yielding surface of floating and growing leaves and grass, with as much ease as other birds do on solid land. It is a small, gentle bird, about the size of a pigeon, but raised on a pair of extraordinary stilts of legs, and furnished with four toes out of all proportion to the rest of its body, but which- serve the purpose of walking on the floating vegetation very well. This remarkable bird is described in works on natural history as quarrelsome and noisy; but unjustly so. It is quiet and gentle, in comparison, at least, with its noisy, screaming, restless neighbour, the grey plover, so common on all the rivers. If there is a moment when you are hunting, and wish to be quiet and hidden from the notice of living things on land or water, that is the moment the troublesome plover, bent on mischief, will come wheeling overhead and set up its scream of alarm, and thus make all birds and beasts in the neighbourhood aware of your presence.

In hot, quiet noons, the smooth and glassy surface of the river is often broken by huge, black, rounded masses, that, at a distance, look like polished boulders of basalt —where, from the configuration of the country, basalt can hardly be. These are hippopotami basking or sleeping in the sun or" shallow sand-pits, half in half out of the water, enjoying a truly amphibious life, a bath below and the warm sun above. If you approach quietly, and awaken them by a rifle-shot^ the huge terror with which these sleeping masses start into life

TO KEBRABASA RAPIDS. 53

and plunge into tlie deeper waters is half fearful, half ludicrous.

The hippopotamus is often described as ferocious and stupid. Stupid he may be, and is"; ferocious he is not, except when very brutally dealt with. Timidity, rather than ferocity, is his most marked feature, and he is best described as an innocent monster. His hairless body, ridiculously short legs, great belly approaching the ground, and much in the way of his. running, his broad, flattened muzzle, his eyes projecting, and surmounted by mere tufts of ears, and his general puncheon-like outline, terminated by a ludicrous little twig of a tail, produce an appearance tha,t excites laughter,¹ but never fear, unless you happen to meet him in the middle of the river when he is excited, champing the water and throwing it about with his huge jaws in quantities sufficient to swamp a small canoe; then, if he is very angry, he may take the whole side out of your frail craft, or divide it in two by a single bite, or turn it upside down by the slightest possible push.

It is interesting to see how gentle and kind the female hippopotamus is to her young. A certain much-loved princess may be seen in one of her photographs riding her little boy upon her back: just so may this mother be seen with her boy upon her back, and the little fellow appears to be very, fond of the fun.

As the day grows, so does the heat, and the glowing rays descend with a fervour that makes the hard wood of the canoe disagreeably hot to touch; gun-barrels and