At 7 p.m., as the last flush faded from the occident,
the lamp, a wick in a pot full of palm oil, was brought in, Said bin Salim would appear, and a brief conversation led to the hour of sleep. A dreary, dismal day, yet it had its enjoyments.
On March 29th the rattling of the matchlocks announced my companion’s return. I never saw a man so thoroughly moist and mildewed; he justified even the French phrase, “Wet to the bone.” His paraphernalia were in a similar state; his guns were grained with rust, and his fireproof powder magazine had admitted the monsoon rain. I was sorely disappointed; he had done literally nothing. I cannot explain where the mismanagement lay, but the result was that he had come back to me without boat or provisions to report ill-success.
It now became apparent that the rainy season was drawing to a close, and the time for navigation was beginning. After some preliminaries with Said bin Salim, Kannena, who had been preparing for a cruise northward, was summoned before me. He agreed to convey me; but when I asked him the conditions on which he would show me the mtoni, or river, he jumped up, discharged a volley of oaths, and sprang from the house like a baboon. I was resolved, however, at all costs, even if we were reduced to actual want, to visit this mysterious stream. I made other overtures to Kannena, made him many promises, and threw over his shoulders a six-feet length of scarlet broadcloth, which made him tremble with joy. I ultimately secured two large canoes and fifty-five men.
On April 12th my canoe, bearing for the first time the British flag, stood out of Bangwe Bay, and, followed by my companion in another canoe, we made for the cloudy and storm-vexed north. There were great rejoicings at our arrival at Uvira, the northernmost station to which merchants had at that time been admitted. Opposite still, rose in a high, broken line the mountains of the inhospitable Urundi, apparently prolonged beyond the northern extremity of the waters. The breadth of the Tanganyika here is between seven and eight miles. Now my hopes were dashed to the ground; the stalwart sons of the chief Maruta visited me, and told me that they had been to the northern extremity, and that the Rusizi enters into, and does not flow out of, the Tanganyika. I was sick at heart. It appears that my companion had misunderstood, and our guide now told us that he had never been beyond Uvira, and never intended to go; so we stopped here nine days, and I got such a bad ulceration of the tongue that I could not speak. The chiefs came and claimed their blackmail, and also Kannena, so I had to pay up all for nothing, as the gales began to threaten, and our crews insisted on putting to lake on May 6th.
We touched at various stages about the lake, and anchored at Mzimu, but we left again at sunset; the waves began to rise, the wind also, and it rained in torrents. It was a doubt whether the cockleshell craft could live through a short, choppy sea in heavy weather. I sheltered myself in my mackintosh as best
I might. Fortunately the rain beat down the wind and the sea, or nothing could have saved us. The next morning Mabruki rushed into my tent, thrust a sword into my hands, and declared the Warundi were upon us, and that the crews were rushing to the boats and pushing them off. Knowing that they would leave us stranded in case of danger, we hurried in without delay; but no enemy appeared. It was a false alarm.
On May 11th we paddled about a grassy inlet; on the 12th we paddled again, and the next day we spent in Bangwe Bay. We were too proud to sneak home in the dark; we had done the expedition, and we wanted to be looked at by the fair and howled at by the valiant.
The next morning we appeared at the entrance of Kawele, and had a triumphal entrance. The people of the whole country-side assembled to welcome us, and pressed waist-deep into the water. My companion and I were repeatedly called for, but true merit is always modest. We regained our old tembe, were salaamed to by everybody, and it felt like a return home. The upshot of it all was this—we had expended upwards of a month exploring the Tanganyika Lake.
I had explored it thoroughly. My health now began to improve, my strength increased; my feet were still swollen, but my hands lost their numbness, and I could again read and write. A relieved mind had helped on this recovery—the object of my expedition