After the tragedy Knudsen found himself engaged in an obstinate contest with the widow, who, taking advantage of the situation, tried to bind him by contract—on the ground that he after all was the only one to blame for her husband’s death—to supply her with six new dresses a year. On the other side he was attacked by the relatives of the deceased, who suddenly appeared in swarms, like vultures, and demanded the arrears of pay due to him. But it was a case of Greek meeting Greek, and Nils finally decided to pay over the money to the widow. I thought that, in that case, she would be murdered before she reached Mchauru, and suggested that he should send a messenger to deposit the money with Matola, as the headman of Wanduwandu’s native district. It was explained to the woman that she could claim her property—it amounted to the enormous sum of four rupees and three quarters—whenever she might so desire; but probably she failed to understand this. At any rate, on her departure, which took place on the day after Knudsen’s final refusal to contract for an annual supply of clothing, the cook, Latu, missed a quantity of ground-nuts and some other eatables from his master’s stores. “Let her just come again, that’s all!” said Nils, outwardly indignant, but in reality visibly relieved. There is no ground for uneasiness; such a beauty is not likely to remain long unwooed in a country like this, and in all probability she is married again by this time. Notwithstanding this, Nils still urges our departure.
Another circumstance has been making my stay at Mahuta less and less agreeable. Even at Nchichira the daily devotions of the headman and other Muhammadans had been a trial, beginning before daybreak and repeated at noon and evening. Here the adherents of the Prophet are more numerous, and their faith more fervid, besides which we are now well into Ramadan. If my men are amusing me with their songs, or themselves with new ngoma dances, which they have an astonishing facility in inventing, their noise drowns the muttering and whining of the nineteen or twenty devotees under the Wali’s baraza. But if the latter can be heard alone, the effect is simply terrible. The Wali leads the exercises; his voice is not in any case melodious, but when uttering itself in Arabic gutturals, it fairly gets on one’s nerves, especially when the noise goes on till after ten at night. Unfortunately it is quite impossible to interfere, even if my principles as to religious toleration did not forbid it. However, I made an energetic and successful protest against the Wali’s habit of conversing at the top of his voice for a considerable time after dismissing his congregation, and all the time spitting copiously into the middle of the boma square. I told him that so long as I was in the place I was the Bwana mkubwa, and it was my business to determine what was desturi (custom), and what was not; and I expressly desired that he should cease to disturb my night’s rest.
Another inducement for a speedy return to the coast was the opportunity of securing a free passage north for my carriers by the Kaiser Wilhelm II, which was to leave Lindi for Dar es Salam soon after November 20. If I kept them with me till my own departure on December 2, I should not only have to pay a good deal in extra wages, but also a large sum in steamer-fares for them, as the boat by which I have taken my passage belongs, not to the Government, but to a private company. Finally, I desired to spend a short time on the coast in order to study the records of the criminal courts—the study of criminal psychology being of the highest importance in ethnography.
The noise on the morning of November 12 was greater than ever. My men leapt about the boma like sheep in a panic, and could scarcely await the word to start. The Wali could not be denied the privilege of escorting us for a short distance along the road. Not so his son, a lazy, dirty rascal, who has given us every reason to remember him by a performance he went through every evening, when the flag was lowered for the night, seizing it, if he thought himself unobserved, as it reached the ground, and sneezing into its folds, or otherwise employing it as a handkerchief.
There is not much to record about the march to Luagala. The country is level as a billiard-table, but the vegetation is far finer than on the southern side of the plateau. For two days the road passes through a splendid forest of large trees; human settlements, and the horrible scrubby bush inseparable from them being entirely absent. Shortly before we reach Luagala (which has a boma garrisoned by half a company and commanded by a lieutenant in the Imperial Army), the country becomes more hilly, and presents a curious aspect. As far as the eye can see extend groves of mangoes, loaded with fruit; but not a soul is visible, nothing but charred ruins of huts here and there. This is the former domain of Machemba, that remarkable Yao chieftain who, like the famous Mirambo in Unyanyembe, was able, by the prestige of his name to gather bands of daring spirits round him, tyrannize over the whole Makonde plateau, and even offer effective resistance to the German troops. The battlefields where he encountered them are still shown to the traveller. About ten years ago, however, Machemba preferred to leave the German territory, and has since lived on the other side of the Rovuma, almost in sight of Nchichira, terrifying the Portuguese for a change. The old warrior must have been an excellent organizer in more ways than one; a stupid man would never have thought of introducing this cultivation on the sandy soil of this particular part of the plateau. Luagala may be well situated from a strategic point of view, but as regards its water supply, it is worse off than any Makonde hamlet. At present all the drinking water has to be fetched from a place twelve or fifteen miles away.
After the long and elaborate dinner with which Lieutenant Spiegel, in the joy of his heart at receiving a European, welcomed us, it was a pleasure on starting once more, to walk through the cool shade of the forest. The road sloped gently downwards for some time—then the incline became steeper, and at last the caravan had to climb down an almost vertical declivity to the Kiheru—a little stream of crystal clearness. Such water is so rare in East Africa that in my delight I had already filled my cup and was lifting it to my lips, when Hemedi Maranga stopped me, saying, “Chungu, Bwana” (“It is bitter, sir”).
Saidi Kapote is already a typical lowland settlement, consisting of scattered, rectangular houses of some size, with saddle-ridged, thatched roofs. It suffers as much from the evening gale as the other villages at the foot of the hills. Hitherto the march down to the coast has resembled an obstacle-race, as, owing to the trouble with the carriers already mentioned, we have every morning been late in starting. Here, too, the Makonde engaged yesterday have vanished without leaving a trace, and though the headman is able to supply some men for the most important loads, we must leave behind those less urgently needed, and trust to his promise to send them on after us.
The last march but one begins. We are steadily advancing eastward, along the parallel ranges which stretch in endless monotony between the Kiheru and the Lukuledi. The caravan is now very numerous, consisting of over a hundred persons, and in the sandy soil, which here makes very heavy walking, the line straggles out to such a length that both ends are never in sight at once. However, we press onward untiringly, hour after hour. At the Lukuledi we take a short rest; then on again. At last, about the middle of the afternoon, after marching more than eight hours, we camp among extensive palm and mango groves, a short hour’s walk west of Mrweka. Everyone is quite worn out—too tired to put one foot before the other; but even the stupidest boy in attendance on the soldiers tosses uneasily in his dreams—for we shall be at Lindi to-morrow, and he is looking forward to the splendour and the enjoyments of this metropolis.
GREAT NGOMA DANCE IN THE BOMA AT MAHUTA.