As we advanced up the Rabai Water the sea arms shrank, and the scenery brightened till we felt that any picture of this gorgeous and powerful nature must be comparatively grey and colourless. A broken blue line of well-wooded hills, the Rabai Range, first offsets of the Coast Ghats, formed the background. On the nearer slopes, westward, were the rude beginnings of plantations, knots of peasants’ huts hove successively in sight, and pale smoke-wreaths, showing that the land is being prepared for the approaching showers, curled high from field and fell. Above was the normal mottled, vapoury sky of the rainy zone, fleecy mists, opal-tinted, and with blurred edges, floating on milk-blue depths, whilst in the western horizon a purple nimbus moved up majestically against the wind. Below, the water caught various and varying reflections of the firmament: here it was smooth as glass, there it was dimpled by the pattering feet of the zephyrs, that found a way through the hill-gaps, and merrily danced over the glistening floor. Now little fish, pursued by some tyrant of the waters, played duck and drake upon the surface: then larger kinds, scate-shaped, sprang five or six feet into the air, catching the sun like silver plates. On both sides the wave was bounded by veritable forests of the sea. The white mangrove affected the unflooded ground; the red species (Rhizophora Mangle, Linn.) rose unsupported where solidly based, but on the watery edge it was propped, like a Banyan tree in miniature, by succulent offsets of luscious purple and emerald green, so intricate that the eye would vainly unravel the web of root and trunk, of branch and shoot. Hence, doubtless, the name Aparaturie, or Apariturier, of the old French travellers, from parere, because the tree reproduces itself like mankind before split into Adam and Eve. Clusters of parasitical oysters adhered edgeways to the portions denuded by the receding tide; the pirate-crab sat in his plundered shell, whilst the brown newt and rainbow-tinted cancers, each with solitary claw, plunged into their little hiding-holes, or coursed sidling amongst the harrow-work of roots, and the green tufted upshoots binding the black mass of ooze. These are the ‘verdant and superb, though unfruitful, trees’ of the old Portuguese navigator, which supply the well-known ‘Zanzibar rafters.’ Various lichens sat upon the branch forks, and tie-tie, or llianas, hung like torn rigging from the boughs. Here and there towered a nodding cocoa, an armed bombax (silk-cotton tree), or a ‘P’hun’-tree, with noble buttressed shaft and canopied head of leek-green, glinted through by golden beams. Fish-hawks, white and brown-robed, soared high in ether. Lower down, bright fly-catchers hunted the yellow butterflies that rashly crossed from bank to bank; the dove coo’d in the denser foliage; the yellow vulture, apparently keeping a bright look-out, perched upon the topmost tree-crest overhanging the shoal water which lined the sides; the small grey kingfisher poised himself with twinkling wings; the snowy paddy-bird stood meditating upon the margin of the wave, while sober-coated curlews and sandpipers took short sharp runs, and stopped to dive beak into the dark vegetable mud.
After seven hours, or ten miles, of alternate rowing, sailing, and pushing through pelting rain and potent sunbeams, we reached, about mid-day, the pier—a tree projecting from the right bank over the miry graves of many defunct mangroves. Our boat, stripped of sail, oars, and rudder, to secure her presence next morning, was made fast to a stump, and we proceeded to breast the hills. We began with rolling ground, sliced and split by alternate heat and moisture, thickly grown with tall coarse grass, sun-scorched to a sickly tawny brown, and thinly sprinkled with thorny trees. Amongst the latter I recognized the ‘Gabol’-mimosa of Somaliland, whose long sharp needle, soft whilst young, but dry, hard, and woody when old, springs from a hollow filbert-like cone.
Another mile brought us to the first ascent of the Rabai hills. The pitch of the fell was short but sharp, and the path wound amongst boulders, and at times under palms and clumps of grateful shade. On the summit appeared the straggling lodges of the savages, pent-housed sheds of dried fronds, surrounded by sparse cultivation, lean cattle, and vegetation drooping for want of rain. The desert people were all armed, being in terror of the Wamasai, the natural enemies of their kind. None, however, carried guns, the citizens of Mombasah having strictly prohibited the importation of powder; a wise precaution which might be adopted by more civilized races upon the West African coast. Amid cries of Yambo!—a salutation which recalled dim memories of Mumbo Jumbo—especially from that part of the community termed by prescriptive right the fair—questions as to whether our bundle contained provisions, and the screams of lean-ribbed children, we pursued our road under the grateful cover of a little wood, and then over ridgy ground where a scattered village, shortly to be wasted by the Kimasai spear, was surrounded by the scantiest cultivation. At the end of a five-mile walk we entered the Mission House, introduced ourselves, and received from Mr and Mrs Rebmann the kindest welcome. They were then alone, M. Deimler, who had lived with Mr Isenberg in Abyssinia, having left them three days before in H. M.’s ship Castor, the late Commodore Trotter. We afterwards saw the latter at Zanzibar.
The Kisulodi-ni Mission House[[13]] at Rabai Mpia appeared to us in these lands a miracle of industry. Begun about 1850 by Messrs Rebmann and Erhardt, it was finished after some two years of uncommonly hard work. The form is three sides of a hollow square, completed with a railing to keep poultry from vagrancy, and the azotea, or flat roof, is ascended by an external ladder; the material is sandstone, clay-plastered and white-washed; mangrove rafters form the ceiling, and Mvuli planks the doors and shutters. It has, however, its inconveniences, being far from that source of all comfort, the well, and beplagued with ants—the little red wretches are ubiquitous by day, and by night overrunning the clothes, nestling in the hair, and exploring nose and ears without a moment’s repose, they compel the inmates to sleep with pans of water supporting the couch legs. We enjoyed sundry huge ‘sneakers’ of tea, and even more still the cool, light, refreshing air of the heights, and the glorious evening, which here, unlike ‘muggy’ Zanzibar, follows the heavy showers. The altitude by B. P. proved to be 750 feet, not 1200 to 2000, as reported.
The servants, most grotesque in garb and form, gathered to stare at the new white men, and those hill-savages who were brave enough to enter a house stalked about, and stopped occasionally to relieve their minds by begging snuff or cloth. One of the attendants had that in his face and manner which suggested the propriety of having a revolver ready. ‘Do not mind him,’ said Mrs Rebmann, ‘he is a very dear friend,—one of our oldest converts.’ ‘Yes,’ pursued her husband, ‘Apekunza was mentally prepared for Christianity by a long course of idiocy, poor fellow!’ We were somewhat startled by the utter simplicity of the confession when it was explained to us that the convert Apekunza, whom Dr Krapf calls Abbe Gunja, had, as often happens to Africans, been driven to distraction by the loss of all his friends and relatives. M. Rebmann also related to me in pathetic terms the death of the mechanic missionary, Johannes Wagner, a youth who, suffering from typhus, was very properly, but in vain, supplied with abundant stimulants, therefore the Arab version of the event was Sharrabúhu Khamr kasír—sár sakrán—mát wa Jehannum (they gave him much strong liquor—he got drunk—died, and went to Gehenna). To compare the edification of the people round the Christian death-bed, as set forth in the Missionary Intelligencer, was not a little suggestive of the delusions in which even honest men can live.
At a conference with the secretaries of the Church Missionary Society in London, Major Straith and the Rev. Mr Venn had intrusted me with an open letter to their employé, dated Sept. 30, 1856, giving him leave of absence in case he decided to accompany the East African expedition at the expense of the latter. They had neglected to forward a copy, but M. Rebmann had received a second communication, which he did not before produce. His earliest impulse was evidently to assist in carrying out the plans which had been first formed by the ‘Mombas Mission,’ and personally to verify the accuracy of the map, then so loudly and violently criticised, now gaining credit every year. But presently cool reflection came. He was not in strong health; he had, perhaps, seen enough of the interior; and, possibly, after a few conversations he thought that we relied too much on the arms of flesh—sword and gun. The home instructions were, ‘The Committee have only to remark that they entirely confide in you, as one of their missionaries, that wherever you go you will maintain all the Christian principles by which you are guided; that should you see fit to go with the expedition your experience and knowledge of the language may prove very valuable; while you may also obtain access to regions and tribes where missionary enterprise may be hereafter carried on with renewed vigour.’ This did not quite suit us, who had been pledged by Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton to avoid ‘Dutchmen’ and proselytizing. Briefly, M. Rebmann did not accompany us. A few weeks afterwards we met him again at Zanzibar, whither he had been driven by the plundering Wamasai in February, 1857. His passion for the ‘wunderbar’ had not abated, and he told us impossible legends about vast forests and other mythical features, near the Nyassa, southern or Zambezean Lake. During the years which he had spent in the Wanyika country he had never studied its language; but when driven from it, he immediately applied himself to Kinyika. An honest and conscientious man, he had yet all the qualities which secure unsuccess. He was the last of the ten members of the hapless Mission: all of them were attacked by bilious remittents a few weeks after commencing their labours; several had died, and the others had sought less dangerous fields for labour, and some possibility of doing something in the spiritual way. That it has been highly successful, geographically speaking, none can doubt. The short trips into the interior, and the long conversations with the natives, duly published by Messrs Krapf, Rebmann, and Erhardt, gave an impulse to East African exploration utterly unknown before their day. And as the recent valuable labours of Messrs Wakefield and New prove, the ‘Mombas Mission’ is not likely to derogate from its former fame.
We had proposed for ourselves a short excursion inland from Mombasah; but everything combined to oppose the project. The land was parched, provisions were unprocurable, the robber tribes were out, and neither guides nor porters would face the plundering parties then approaching the town. Indeed, it is to be feared that the entrance to Chaga, Kilima-njaro, and the hill country around will now be closed to travellers for many a year. Caravans dare not risk a contest with professed plunderers; and hereabouts a successful raid always leads to sundry repetitions. Such is the normal state of East Africa, from the Red Sea to the Cape. The explorer can never be sure of finding a particular road practicable: a few murders will shut it for a generation, and effectually arrest him at the very threshold.
We had no object during a mere ‘trial trip,’ either to fight our way, or to pave it with gold. Our course was to economize life and money for the great task of exploring the Lake Regions. This was duly explained by me to the Royal Geographical Society, and no African traveller would have required the explanation. But a certain Herr Augustus Petermann, of Gotha, could not resist the temptation of taunting me with having hesitated to face dangers through which the missionaries had passed, ‘weaponed only with their umbrellas.’ This gentleman from Germany had visited England, and had created for himself the title of ‘Physical Geographer to the Crown’: when, however, no salary was the result, he returned to his native land, declaring that the Crown must take its geography without physic. His style of settling geographical questions, for instance in the ‘Skizze’ before alluded to (note 1, chap. v.), seems to be simply striking a mean between the extremes of the disputants. The process reminds one of a Bombay savan, locally famed, who, having collected every observation published upon the disputed longitude of that port, added them all, divided them by the number of the items, and produced his meridian. As a reward for Herr Petermann’s ‘zealous and enlightened services as a writer and cartographer in advancing geographical science,’ that is to say, persistent book-making and map-drawing, he, and not Mr Alexander Findlay, received, in 1867, the Founder’s medal of the Royal Geographical Society; and I can only say that in this case the gift has gone cheap, and has been easily gained, as what is called in familiar French ‘un crachat.’
Unlike the traveller, the merchant always commands an entrance for his goods: if one line be shut up, another forthwith opens itself. Such we found this year to be the case at Mombasah; the western country has suddenly been closed to Arabs and Wasawahili; the north-western has become as unexpectedly practicable. On January 19 (1857) returned the van of a large trading party, which had started for the interior in September last. It was composed of about 200 men—Arabs, Wasawahili, and slaves, of whom 40 bore provisions, rice and maize, pulse, sugar, and tobacco, whilst 150 armed with muskets carried packs to the value of $3000 in ‘Merkani’ (American domestics), sheetings, longcloths, and other stuffs; green, white, and spotted beads, knives, tin (batí); brass wires, and small chains, with stores and comforts for the journey. After 19 days of actual marching, and sleeping out 24 nights, they reached Kitui, the farthest point visited by Dr Krapf in 1849, and thence they dispersed through Ukamba-ni and Kikuyu, its north-western province, to purchase ivory. The latter article sold per Farsalah (35 lbs.) for 88 cubits of cotton cloth, probably worth at Zanzibar 11 German crowns and a small merchant could thus afford to being back from 1400 to 1500 lbs.
I wrote down a list of their marches[[14]] and stations, carefully comparing the accounts of several travellers. Ukamba-ni was described to me as a country rich in game, whose rivers were full of hippopotamus; with gazelles, jungle-cattle, and ‘wild camels’ (giraffes) in the plains, and in the bush lions and leopards, elephants, and the rhinoceros, which the Arabs here call ‘El Zurraf,’ and describe to be very fierce. The tribes are subject to head men, whose influence extends over a few miles: these chiefs must be propitiated with cloth and beads, for which they return safe conduct and provisions. At Kikuyu the caravan found a royalet, Mundu Wazeli, whose magical powers were greatly feared. The people, a semi-pastoral and hospitable race, willingly escorted the strangers. They are braver than the Wanyika, and they effectively oppose the Wamasaa, when invading their country to drive the Galla cattle. The Wakámbá claim blood-relationship with the Wakwafi and the Wagálla, who, it must be remembered, speak an Arabic dialect. All spring from the three sons of a venerable keeper of cattle, Mkwáfi the senior, Mgálla, and Mkámbá: the legend seems invented to account for the inveterate blood-feud between the cousin tribes. When the founders had inherited their father’s property, they had been cautioned against robbing wild honey, and they were told, as in the Crystal Palace, ‘Never kill a Bee.’ Mkámbá, apparently having a sweet tooth, attacked a wild hive, and had the misfortune to see all his cattle rush violently to the forests, where in time they became ‘buffaloes’ and antelopes. He naturally robbed his second brother, who, in turn, robbed the senior, who retorted by robbing the junior, and so forth till the present day. The climate is good, water abounds, and provisions are cheap. The honey is ‘white as paper’; sugar-cane, manioc, holcus, and tobacco are everywhere cultivated by the women; poultry is plentiful, and goats cost 8, while cows fetch 24 cubits of cotton cloth. The beasts of burden are asses and a few camels. The return road was rendered dangerous by the Gallas and the Wamasai, who both harry Ukam-ba-ni, but who did not dare to attack so large a body armed with guns. The caravan marched from sunrise till the afternoon, halting about half an hour after two hours’ walking, the stages being mostly determined by water. Every night they surrounded themselves with a corral, or rude abbatis, and they lighted huge fires against the wild beasts. I did not hear that any of the party died. My informants could tell me nothing concerning the giant snow-mountain, Ndur-Kenia,[[15]] that exceptional volcano, still active, when distant 6° from the sea, which would postulate a large lacustrine region, possibly the Baringo or Behari-ngo. They had never heard of the Tumbiri or Monkey river, flowing to the N. West; of the direct communication with the Upper Nile, or of other geographical curiosities whose existence the study of the interior during the last few years has either confirmed or annulled. Yet they were acute and not incurious men. One of them, Mohammed bin Ahmad, had kept a journal of his march, carefully noting the several stages. The late M. Jomard, President of the French Geographical Society, had been informed (and misinformed) that an annual caravan of ‘red people,’ from the neighbourhood of Mombasah, carried beads to buy ivory on the Nile, about N. lat. 3°. He laid down the length of the journey at two to three months. The Arabs knew nothing of the matter.