Resuming the journey on the 16th, we floated and paddled past three of our land march camps, and on a large island possessing huts sufficient to accommodate 2,000 people we halted for the night. Both banks of the river were unpeopled and abandoned, but no one could impart any reason for this wholesale devastation. Our first thought was that our visit had perhaps caused their abandonment, but as the natives had occupied their respective villages in view of the rear guard, we concluded that probably some internecine war was the cause.
This day was the eighty-third since we had departed from the shores of the Albert Nyanza, and the sixtieth since we had left Fort Bodo. Our progress had been singularly successful. Of the naked Madi carriers we had lost a great many, nearly half of the number that we had departed from the Nyanza with; but of the hardened and acclimatised Zanzibaris we had lost but three, two of whom were by drowning, and one was missing through a fit of spleen. Five hundred and 1888.
Aug. 16.
Bungangeta. sixty miles of the journey had been accomplished, there were only ninety miles remaining between Bungangeta Island and Yambuya, yet not a rumour of any kind had been heard respecting the fate of our friends and followers of the rear column. This constant and unsatisfied longing, pressing on my mind with a weight as of lead, with the miserable unnourishing diet of dry plantains, was fast reducing me into an aged and decrepit state of mind and body. That old buoyant confident feeling which had upheld me so long had nearly deserted me quite. I sat near sunset by the waterside alone, watching the sun subside lower and lower before the horizon of black foliage that bounded Makubana, the limits of my view. I watched the ashen grey clouds preceding the dark calm of night, and I thought it represented but too faithfully the melancholy which I could not shake off. This day was nearly twelve months from the date the rear column should have set out from Yambuya—365 days. Within this period 100 carriers only might have been able to have advanced as far as Bungangeta, even if they had to make seven round trips backwards and forwards? What could possibly have happened except wholesale desertion caused by some misunderstanding between the officers and men? In the darkness I turned into my tent, but in my nervous and highly-strung state could find no comfort there; and at last I yielded and implored the all-seeing and gracious Providence to restore to me my followers and companions, and allay the heartache that was killing me.
At the usual hour on the 17th, we embarked in our canoes and resumed our journey down the river, paddling languidly as we floated. It was a sombre morning; a heavy greyness of sky painted the eternal forest tops of a sombrous mourning colour. As we glided past Bungangeta district we observed that the desolation had not been confined to it, but that Makubana also had shared the same fate; and soon after coming in view of the mighty curve of Banalya, which south or left bank had been so populous, we observed that the district of the Banalya had also been included. But about half-past 1888.
Aug. 17.
Banalya. nine we saw one village, a great way down through the light mist of the morning, still standing, which we supposed was the limit of the devastation. But as we drew near we discovered that it had a stockade. In July 1887, when we passed up, Banalya was deemed too powerful to need a stockade. Presently white dresses were seen, and quickly taking up my field glass, I discovered a red flag hoisted. A suspicion of the truth crept into my mind. A light puff of wind unrolled the flag for an instant, and the white crescent and star was revealed. I sprang to my feet and cried out, "The Major, boys! Pull away bravely." A vociferous shouting and hurrahing followed, and every canoe shot forward at racing speed.
VIEW OF BANALYA CURVE.
About 200 yards from the village we stopped paddling, and as I saw a great number of strangers on the shore, I asked, "Whose men are you?" "We are Stanley's men," was the answer delivered in mainland Swahili. 1888.
Aug. 17.
Banalya. But assured by this, and still more so as we recognised a European near the gate, we paddled ashore. The European on a nearer view turned out to be Mr. William Bonny, who had been engaged as doctor's assistant to the Expedition.
Pressing his hand, I said,
"Well, Bonny, how are you? Where is the Major? Sick, I suppose?"
"The Major is dead, sir."
"Dead? Good God! How dead? Fever?"