Wednesday afternoon’s voyage was, as regards scenery, the most beautiful of the whole journey. Instead of the country becoming flatter as we approach the sea, it increases in boldness and picturesqueness. Lines of hills covered with wood lie in all directions, and amongst these the river winds, making sudden turns almost at right angles, so that we proceeded towards almost every point of the compass except due south. A few scattered hamlets, of three to six huts each, began to appear. The crocodiles were numerous, from the old patriarch to the infant of a foot or so long. We must have seen a hundred of them that afternoon. We had some difficulty in landing and pitching our tents, and on account of the heat and the mosquitoes passed the most uncomfortable night of the entire journey. Hardly anyone was able to sleep, and I was glad to get up at four o’clock and dress in the bright moonlight and rouse up the others.
OUTRIGGER CANOES
Our fourth (and last) day of canoe voyaging was begun soon after six o’clock. Outrigger canoes made their appearance, a style of craft the Hovas seem never to have invented, nor are such in use on the east coast. The scenery increased in boldness, with precipitous hillsides rising from the side of the river, which here was about the size of the Thames at Kew. About an hour after leaving, we found the current running up the stream; it was feeling the influence of the tide from the ocean, still many miles distant. The foliage was most dense and luxuriant, from the summit of the hills down to the water’s edge, in some parts the long lianas forming immense festoons and making a perfect wall of exquisite green, while the ever-present bàraràta shoots up its feathery head. After some time we turned from the main stream into a branch river, much narrower, but running for many miles in a straight line. As the day advanced, the intense sunlight made everything glow with light and heat, lighting up the dense vegetation most brilliantly. Groups of pandanus were frequent here among the more European-like trees; these are of two species, one rising into a lofty cone, almost like a low poplar, and the other one more spreading and brandishing, with the aerial roots rising high above the ground. After an hour or two we came again into the main stream, here more than a mile wide, the banks being still thickly wooded. It was intensely hot, and we were not sorry to see Màrovoày (“Many crocodiles”) a few miles ahead of us on a detached hill to the east of the river.
At one o’clock we stopped when opposite the town, the water approach to it being by a small tidal stream which flows into the main river some miles farther down. Our men were just enough to carry the wife and baby and little girl in their palanquin across the mile or two, while the native nurse and I walked; the others, who were some way behind, had to go farther down the river in the canoes, and consequently had three or four hours’ paddling in the glowing afternoon sun, which we who took the land journey avoided.
Màrovoày is situated on the north-east bank of a small river, which we had to cross by a canoe. Nearly a dozen dhows were either anchored in the stream or aground on mud-banks, giving the place the aspect of a small fishing town. The lower town, with perhaps two hundred houses, was chiefly occupied by Arab and Indian traders, their stores and warehouses lining the main street through which we passed. The Hova town and government compound (ròva) was on a low hill, rising abruptly from the level to the height of eighty or a hundred feet. Coming up to the gate of the ròva, we stopped to rest and sent word of our arrival to the governor. While we were waiting, one of our men thoughtfully got us a coffee-pot full of rànom-pàry (sugar-cane juice), and never did nectar taste more delicious than that as we took repeated “pulls” at it after our walk across the rice-fields in the glowing sunshine.
A WELCOME REST
Presently we were invited to enter, the governor coming out to meet us, and brought us into his house, a rather smartly furnished place of one large room, but with a wide gallery all round it. Here we were glad to rest after our hot voyage and walk, and enjoyed an excellent cup of coffee, which they kindly made for us, as well as some of Huntley & Palmer’s “best mixed biscuits.” We felt as if we were getting back into a civilised land again! After a little while we moved into the chapel, which was also within the ròva; this was a large building, and looked quite gay, from being completely papered with good wall-paper, but badly laid on, for the native workman evidently thought that the white edging to each piece was a part of the pattern, and so had carefully left it visible in every case! The wooden posts of the roof were all papered too. The pulpit was a curious example of its kind, being made of lattice-work, gaily painted, with a number of small looking-glasses let into its front, and backed by wall-paper. It had a flat canopy or sounding board and a large door, so it was like a little room of itself. With its numerous doors and windows there was a beautiful breeze through the building, and we anticipated a comfortable night, but, alas! our hopes were not realised, for the heat was intense, and the mosquitoes persecuted us by hundreds. This town is probably one of the hottest in the island, and we were told that later on, in the rainy season, the place is almost unbearable from the clouds of these insects.
FROM CANOE TO DHOW
Our day at Màrovoày was occupied chiefly in arranging for leaving for Mojangà the same evening, and in transferring all our baggage to one of the dhows lying in the river. There is an extensive view from the upper part of the town, as the country is very flat for many miles round. In the evening we dined with the governor and his wife in the làpa, and went down to the river at about nine o’clock. With some difficulty, in the darkness, we transferred ourselves and palanquins, etc., from shore to canoe, and from canoe to dhow, and at last were crowded together as thick as we could sit and lie on the little deck. The ship we embarked in was about thirty-five feet long, by fourteen or fifteen feet beam; the middle portion open to the keel, but with a little deck forward and another aft. This small quarter-deck was about ten to twelve feet square, and when the two large palanquins for the children to sleep in had been placed on either side, there was not much space left for five adults to pack together, in fact we had about as much room as would be found on a good-sized dining-table.
Soon after ten o’clock we got under way, the tide having begun to ebb for the previous hour or two. There was no wind, so six men rowed us down the stream, accompanying their work with the most curious weird-sounding songs, in Arabic, I suppose (or perhaps Suahili), some of them sounding very comic. We swept down rapidly with the tide, the trees looking dark and gloomy in the uncertain light, and presently the moon rose. After an hour or two we got into the main river, and in a little time had to cast anchor, as the tide had turned. It was a strange night, and we did not get much sleep, as we had not room to turn, so we waited impatiently for the dawn. Dawn, however, brought with it a cloud of mosquitoes from the low swampy ground bordering the river, which was thick with mangroves and rank vegetation. Just at twilight they surrounded us by thousands; but as soon as the sun rose, they disappeared, a gentle breeze sprang up, and we set sail. The river widened as we proceeded, until it became a large estuary, and gradually opened into the Bay of Bèmbatòka. The breeze freshened as the day advanced, and we sailed at a considerable speed.