In an hour and a half, we arrived at our camp in the Kinyamwezi village of Mkwenkwe, the birthplace—of our famous chanter Maganga.
My tent was pitched, the goods were stored in one of the tembes; but one-half the men had returned to Kwihara, to take one more embrace of their wives and concubines.
Towards night I was attacked once again with the intermittent fever. Before morning it had departed, leaving me terribly prostrated with weakness. I had heard the men conversing with each other over their camp-fires upon the probable prospects of the next day. It was a question with them whether I should continue the march. Mostly all were of opinion that, since the master was sick, there would be no march. A superlative obstinacy, however, impelled me on, merely to spite their supine souls; but when I sallied out of my tent to call them to get ready, I found that at least twenty were missing; and Livingstone's letter-carrier, "Kaif-Halek"—or, How-do-ye-do?—had not arrived with Dr. Livingstone's letter-bag.
Selecting twenty of the strongest and faithfulest men I despatched them back to Unyanyembe in search of the missing men; and Selim was sent to Sheikh bin Nasib to borrow, or buy, a long slave-chain.
Towards night my twenty detectives returned with nine of the missing men. The Wajiji had deserted in a body, and they could not be found. Selim also returned with a strong chain, capable of imprisoning within the collars attached to it at least ten men. Kaif-Halek also appeared with the letter-bag which he was to convey to Livingstone under my escort. The men were then addressed, and the slave-chain exhibited to them. I told them that I was the first white man who had taken a slave-chain with him on his travels; but, as they were all so frightened of accompanying me, I was obliged to make use of it, as it was the only means of keeping them together. The good need never fear being chained by me—only the deserters, the thieves, who received their hire and presents, guns and ammunition, and then ran away.
I would not put any one this time in chains; but whoever deserted after this day, I should halt, and not continue the march till I found him, after which he should march to Ujiji with the slave-chain round his neck. "Do you hear?"—"Yes," was the answer. "Do you understand?"—"Yes."
We broke up camp at 6 P.M., and took the road for Inesuka, at which place we arrived at 8 P.M.
When we were about commencing the march the next morning, it was discovered that two more had deserted. Baraka and Bombay were at once despatched to Unyanyembe to bring back the two missing men—Asmani and Kingaru—with orders not to return without them. This was the third time that the latter had deserted, as the reader may remember. While the pursuit was being effected we halted at the village of Inesuka, more for the sake of Shaw than any one else.
In the evening the incorrigible deserters were brought back, and, as I had threatened, were well flogged and chained, to secure them against further temptation. Bombay and Baraka had a picturesque story to relate of the capture; and, as I was in an exceedingly good humour, their services were rewarded with a fine cloth each.
On the following morning another carrier had absconded, taking with him his hire of fifteen new cloths and a gun but to halt anywhere near Unyanyembe any longer was a danger that could be avoided only by travelling without stoppages towards the southern jungle-lands. It will be remembered I had in my train the redoubtable Abdul Kader, the tailor, he who had started from Bagamoyo with such bright anticipations of the wealth of ivory to be obtained in the great interior of Africa. On this morning, daunted by the reports of the dangers ahead, Abdul Kader craved to be discharged. He vowed he was sick, and unable to proceed any further. As I was pretty well tired of him, I paid him off in cloth, and permitted him to go.