It is customary for stranger caravans proceeding towards Ujiji to remain six weeks or two months at Unyamyembe for repose and recovery from the labours which they have endured; moreover, they are expected to enjoy the pleasures of civilised society, and to accept the hospitality offered them by the resident Arabs. In Eastern Africa, I may mention, six weeks was the same as the three days’ visit in England.
The morning after our arrival at Kazeh a great number of our porters left us, and the rest of our party apparently considered that Unyamyembe, and not Ujiji, was the end of the exploration. Several of them were mutinous when I told them they would not be rewarded for safe-conduct until we had reached the end of the up march, which was not
here; and these difficulties took a long time to settle. Kazeh, indeed, proved in effect a second point of departure, easier only because I had now gained some experience. Another cause of delay was the sickness of many of our people, and it took some time for them to shake off the ague which they had contracted. Indeed, the wing of Azrael seemed waving over my own head. Nevertheless, on the morning of December 15th I started off afresh, charmed with the prospect of a fine open country, and delighted to get away from what had been to me a veritable imprisonment.
I will not describe the details of our march, which went on without a break. Christmas Day found us still marching, and so on day after day, if I except an enforced halt of twelve days at Msene. On January 10th, 1858, I left Msene, with considerable difficulty through the mutiny of porters; and so we pressed on, more or less with difficulty, until at last a formidable obstacle to progress presented itself. I had been suffering for some days; the miasmatic airs of Sorora had sown the seeds of a fresh illness. On the afternoon of January 18th, 1858, I was seized with an attack of fever, and then paralysis set in from the feet upwards, and I was completely hors de combat. There seemed nothing left for me but to lie down and die. One of my chief porters declared that the case was beyond his skill: it was one of partial paralysis, brought on by malaria, and he called in an Arab, who looked at me also. The
Arab was more cheerful, and successfully predicted that I should be able to move in ten days. On the tenth I again mounted my ass, but the paralysis wore off very slowly, and prevented me from walking any distance for nearly a year. The sensation of numbness in my hands and feet disappeared even more slowly than that. I had, however, undertaken the journey in a “nothing like leather” frame of mind, and was determined to press on. So we pressed.
We had now left the “Land of the Moon” behind us, and entered upon a new district. The road before us lay through a howling wilderness, and the march lay along the right bank of a malarial river, and the mosquitoes feasted right royally upon our bodies, even in the daytime. A good deal of the ground was very swampy, and it then stretched over jungly and wooded hill-spires, with steep ascents and descents. Everywhere was thick, fœtid, and putrescent vegetation. The heaviness of this march caused two of our porters to levant and another four to strike work. It was, therefore, necessary for me to again mount ass ten days after an attack of paralysis. So we dragged on for the next week, throughout the early days of February, a weary toil of fighting through tiger and spear grass, over broken and slippery paths, and through thick jungle. But these difficulties were lightly borne, for we felt that we must be nearing the end of our journey.
On February 13th we resumed our travel through
screens of lofty grass, which thinned out into a straggling forest. After about an hour’s march, as we entered a small savannah, I saw our Arab leader running forward and changing the direction of the caravan. Presently he breasted a steep and stony hill, sparsely clad with thorny trees. Arrived at the summit with toil, for our fagged beasts now refused to proceed, we halted for a few minutes and gazed.
“What is that streak of light which lies below?” I inquired of Seedy Bombay, one of our porters.
“I am of opinion,” quoth Seedy, “that is the water.”