At Mambanga's on the north bank, which we reached the next day, we found a good supply of food, but a Zanzibari named Jaliffi was seriously wounded with a wooden arrow in the chest. A portion an inch and a half long was embedded in the wounded part, which incapacitated him from duty for over two months. On the point of the arrow being ejected, the wound soon closed.
At Mugwye's—or My-yui—the next place, a great change had occurred. All the villages were obliterated by fire, and the fine plantain plantations cut down, and at Mugwye's own village there stood an immense camp. Believing that Ugarrowwa was present, we fired a signal shot, but no answer being returned, we proceeded to our old camp on the left bank, where on one of the trees Lieutenant Stairs had carved the date "July 31st" (1887) for the benefit of the Major.
Arriving at our old camp, we were surprised to see the body of a woman belonging to Ugarrowwa's, freshly killed and washed, laid out on the bank close to the river, and near by three bunches of plantains, two cooking-pots, and a canoe capable of carrying five people. It was evident to us that a party of natives hearing the signal shot, had decamped, and had been obliged to abandon their intended feast.
A party of men was sent across the river to reconnoitre, and in a short time they came back reporting that Ugarrowwa must have departed that same morning down the river. This was very regrettable to me, as I burned to ascertain what he had heard of the news from down river, and I also wished to beg of him not to ravage the country for the benefit of succeeding caravans, which would suffer serious loss from the wholesale havoc and devastation attending his journey.
On the 10th of August I delivered over to the care of the senior Zanzibar chief, Rashid, thirty-five of the ablest of our men, with a charge to pursue our old track 1888.
Aug. 10.
Mugwye's. along the river as I intended to descend the river with our canoe flotilla without a halt as far as Wasp Rapids, where no doubt we should overtake Ugarrowwa, and where we should stay together until he should reach us.
At 6.40 A.M. we set out, and, paddling vigorously, were in the neighbourhood of Wasp Rapids at 11 A.M. Long before we heard the roar of the rushing river over the rocky reefs which obstruct its course there, we descried an immense camp on the right bank, and in a short time the forms of men in white dresses moving about the bush. When we had approached within rifle range we fired some signal shots and hoisted our flag, which was no sooner seen than the deep boom of heavily-loaded muskets announced that we were recognized. Soon several large canoes pushed from the right bank towards us, as we were descending along the left bank, and hailed us in the Swahili language. After the usual exchange of compliments we then asked the news, and to our great joy, not unmixed with grief, we learned that our couriers, who had now been absent from us nearly six months, were in Ugarrowwa's camp. The couriers had left Lieutenant Stairs at Ugarrowwa's station on the 16th of March, and had reached Wasp Rapids in seventeen days, or on the 1st of April, where they had been driven back with a loss of four of their number. Perceiving that they were unable to pierce through the hostile crowds, they had travelled back to Ugarrowwa's station, which they reached on the 26th of April, and where they placed themselves in Ugarrowwa's hands. A month later, Ugarrowwa, having collected his people from the outlying stations, commenced his descent of the Ituri River, our couriers accompanying him, reaching Wasp Rapids on the 9th of August, having been seventy-six days en route. That same period we had occupied in travelling from the Albert Nyanza, the 10th of August being the twenty-ninth day since we had left Ugarrowwa's old station.
After forming our camp on the left bank in the deserted village of Bandeyah, opposite the camp of Ugarrowwa's, in the deserted village of Bandekiya, the 1888.
Aug. 11.
Bandeya. surviving couriers, accompanied by Ugarrowwa and his head men, visited us. Amid a deep silence the head man related his tragic story:
"Master, when you called for volunteers to bear your letter to the Major, there was not a man of us but intended to do his very best, knowing that we were all to receive a high reward and great honour if we succeeded. We have done our best, and we have failed. We have, therefore, lost both reward and honour. It is the men who have gone with you to the Nyanza and found the Pasha, and can boast of having seen him face to face, who deserve best at your hands. But if we have not succeeded in finding the Major and gladdening his heart with the good news we had to tell, God he knows it has not been through any fault of our own, but rather because it is His will that we should not do so. We have lost four of our number, and I am the only one who cannot show a wound received during the journey. We have two, who though alive, seem to be incurable from the poison in their blood. Some of our men have as many as five arrow wounds to show you. As far as Avisibba we came down the river smoothly enough, but then the sharp work soon commenced. At Engweddé two were wounded. At Panga Falls three men were most seriously hurt by arrows. Between Panga Falls and here was a continued fight day after day, night after night; the natives seemed to know long before we reached them our full strength, and set on us either in full daylight or in the darkness, as though resolved to exterminate us. Why they should show so much courage with us when they had shown themselves so cowardly when we went up with you, I cannot say, unless our deserters, coming down river by half-dozens, have enabled the Pagans to taste the flavour of Zanzibari blood, and they having succeeded so well with them, imagined they could succeed with us. However, when we reached this village wherein you are now encamped, there were only eleven of us fit for anything; all the rest were sore from their wounds and one was helpless; and soon after our coming the fight began in real earnest. Those 1888.
Aug. 11.
Bandeya. surviving couriers, accompanied by Ugarrowwa and his from that great village opposite us joined with the natives of Bandeya; the river seemed to swarm with canoes, and the bush around this village was alive with natives. After an hour's trial, during which time many of them must have been killed, for they were so crowded, especially on the river, we were left in peace. We availed ourselves in fortifying, as well as we could, the few huts we had selected for our quarters during the night.
"When night fell we placed sentries as usual, as you and Lieut. Stairs and Ugarrowwa, all of you, enjoined on us; but, wearied with work and harassed by care, our sentries must have slept, for the first thing we knew was that the natives had pulled down our zeriba and entered into the camp, and a wild cry from a man who received a fatal thrust with a spear woke us up to find them amongst us. We each grasped our rifles and fired at the nearest man, and six of them fell dead at our feet. This for a moment paralysed them; but we heard a chief's voice say, 'These men have run away from Bula Matari. Not one of them must live.' Then from the river and the bush they came on in dense crowds, which the flashes of our rifles' fire lit up, and their great numbers seemed for a short time to frighten the best of us. Lakkin, however, who is never so funny as when in trouble, shouted out, 'These fellows have come for meat—give it them, but let it be of their own people,' and wounded men and all took their rifles and took aim as though at a target. How many of them fell I cannot say; but when our cartridges were beginning to run low they ran away, and we were left to count the dead around us. Two of our men never answered to their names, a third called Jumah, the son of Nassib, called out to me, and when I went to him I found him bleeding to death. He had just strength enough to charge me to give the journey up. 'Go back,' said he. 'I give you my last words. Go back. You cannot reach the Major; therefore whatever you do, go back to Ugarrowwa's.' Having said this, he gave up his last breath, and rolled over, dead.
1888.
Aug. 11.
Bandeya. "In the morning we buried our own people, and around our zeriba there were nine natives dead, while within there were six. We beheaded the bodies, and after collecting their heads in a heap, held council together as to the best course to follow. There were seventeen of us alive, but there were now only four of us untouched by a wound. Jumah's last words rung in our ears like a warning also, and we decided to return to Ugarrowwa's. It was easier said than done. I will not weary you with details—we met trouble after trouble. Those who were wounded before were again wounded with arrows; those who were unwounded did not escape—not one excepting myself, who am by God's mercy still whole. A canoe was capsized and we lost five rifles. Ismailia was shot dead at Panga Falls. But why need we say over again what I have already said? We reached Ugarrowwa's after an absence of forty-three days. There were only sixteen of us alive, and fifteen of us were wounded. Let the scars of those wounds tell the rest of the story. We are all in God's hands and in yours. Do with us as you see fit. I have ended my words."