“Back to the Front”
“ He who steals a person is a pig.”
(Mohammed Bogharib-.)
I
N his delightful house, with all its English
comforts, Mr Gabriel, the Commissioner, nursed Livingstone back to health once more. Never had he met with such kindness, and the two men struck up a very warm friendship. The Bishop of Angola, the Portuguese Acting-Governor, was also kindness itself, and sent his doctor to look after Livingstone.
When he was able to be up and about once more, he and his Makololo men were given a state reception. Sekeletu’s naked tribesmen, who had come all that vast journey with their white leader, now looked very different beings indeed. They were arrayed in new striped cotton robes and red caps, and they walked through Loanda literally with their mouths open at all the wonders they beheld. It was the first time any one of them had ever seen a house; and when they saw two-storeyed houses in this city of wonders they were lost in astonishment. How on earth, they asked, did the people manage to live in the upper storey?
Didn’t the conical roof poles of the “ bottom hut ” stick up through the floor?
But further wonders were in store for them when they were taken to see the big stone churches. They were not houses, they said; they were mountains with caves in them. And then they saw the sea for the first time in their lives, and were filled with terror and awe. It so happened that two British men-o’-war had just arrived at this Portuguese harbour. Livingstone had sometimes tried to tell his black boys what a ship was like, but had no word in their language but “canoe” to express it. When they saw the Pluto and the Philomel they were utterly terrified, and at first refused all the cajolements of the jolly British tars to come on board and see a ship for themselves. At last Livingstone persuaded them, and the party went on board one of the war-ships. To see all the British tars drawn up was to them to behold a new race of beings. “ Truly,” they said to Livingstone, “ they are just like you.” They were not quite sure they were not perhaps sea-spirits. But when the sailors goodhumouredly shared their beef and bread with them, they quickly plucked up heart again, and actually accepted the commander’s invitation to fire off one of the big guns. Its roar and smoke greatly impressed them. “ That is what they put down the slave trade with,” said they. As for the man-o’-war itself, they
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ran excitedly all over it and examined everything. “ It is not a canoe at all: it is a town! And what sort of a town is it that you must climb up into with a rope? ”
While Livingstone was at Loanda, and was passing through another bout of fever, his men made themselves useful by helping the sailors to coal the ships, or, as they described it themselves, loading “stones that burn.” The Doctor took a great liking to all the Portuguese in this colony; he always found them courteous and kind, as indeed all unprejudiced travellers to-day describe them. The great temptation to engage in the paying slave trade proved too much for many of them. But Livingstone gave their Government credit for good intentions.
The officers on board the British war-ships all made friends with Livingstone; in fact, he was a great hero amongst them. It was astonishing to think what this frail, emaciated man with the strong, resolute face had carried out alone in darkest Africa. With next to no equipment, and in wretched health, by sheer force of character he had beaten all other records, and had opened up a way from the coast into the centre of the continent. They themselves were there to regulate the slave trade, and Livingstone’s enthusiasm on that subject was very contagious. He knew more about it than any other man. Their commander gave Livingstone a cordial invitation to come back with them to England.
What it must have meant to him to refuse that offer one can only guess. To see his wife and children once more; to join that jolly officers’ mess on board the Philomel, and leave the fever-haunted swamps behind him; to go home and see Scotland again! It must have been a tremendous temptation. And the only thing that prevented it was what ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have thought a very small scruple. It was his men, his Makololo. How could he possibly leave them there, big, helpless, grown-up children that they were, with half-a-continent between them and their homes? He felt in honour bound to take them back again to Sekeletu. To leave them in that coast town alone might easily mean their “ going under ” altogether, or falling into slavery.
So Livingstone said good-bye to his English and Portuguese friends and turned his face once more towards the wilderness. They gave him a splendid send-off; the Bishop-Governor lent him an escort of twenty carriers; the naval officers presented him with a new tent. His men were loaded with presents for their friends at home, and the Governor sent King Sekeletu a special gift. We shall see what it was later on. The Portuguese were delighted at the prospect of this wonderful new opening for trade that
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Livingstone had discovered and made possible by his friendship with Sekeletu and Shinte. And Livingstone believed that all this would gradually break down the horrible slave trade, which every month he spent in Africa more and more stirred his disgust and pity.
He knew well he was in for a big effort but he didn’t realise it would be twenty months before he reached the end of this journey.
All went well till they reached the country of the unfriendly Ba-shinje, and there nearly every village meant some kind of a row with greedy bandits. In one bit of forest land, for instance, they were trudging along, Livingstone on his ox, “ Sinbad,” and feeling very low with fever, when suddenly a body of men came charging down upon them. Livingstone had a six-barrelled revolver in his hand (a present from one of his naval friends of H.M.S. Linnet ), and in a trice he pulled himself together and made for the chief bandit. The sight of the revolver pointed straight at his stomach, and Livingstone’s furious face, yellow and emaciated with fever, behind it, was too much for the ruffian, and he instantly “ climbed down.” That kind of scene was repeated pretty often all along the route through this country till they came to the really big forest districts. There he found a tribe of an olive tint of skin and rather almond-shaped eyes, and they were quite friendly. One of Livingstone’s few
Bandits
The sight of the revolver pointed straight at his stomach, and Livingstone’s furious
face were too much for the ruffians.
sketches is of a woman of this tribe. She is wearing a head-dress which looks remarkably like a saint’s halo, being formed of a hoop circling her black curls, from which rays of twisted hair proceed in every direction. Some of the dandies of that tribe wore their hair in the shape of buffalo horns; others had scars arranged in patterns all over their bodies. They were certainly martyrs to fashion.
From time to time they passed convoys of slaves in chains, and his Makololo men were horrified at what they saw. “ Ga ba na pelu! ” (“They have no hearts! ”) they said when the cruel-looking slave-drivers stalked past them.
In the grass country of the Loembwe River the people were terrified at the sight of a white man. It made Livingstone feel quite queer to be treated as a sort of bogey-man by the native women and children. To the little brown children the sudden apparition of a white man seemed a most terrifying portent. Even the dogs fled at his approach with tail between their legs. The babies set up a scream as if they saw a hobgoblin.
At last they reached King Shinte’s village, and that jovial old person gave Livingstone a warm welcome. The Queen Nyamoana was now a widow, her obsequious husband having died since Livingstone’s last visit. The capable princess Manenko was absent on some manly business, so Livingstone had to leave without K
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seeing her. He planted a number of seeds in Shinte’s fields before leaving, and some fruits and vegetables that he had brought from the coast. No doubt these became the parents of many of the fruits which now flourish in that district.
Here the Doctor found himself by accident a “ blood relation ” of a young woman of Shinte’s people. He was removing a tumour for her in her forearm when a drop or two of blood spirted into Livingstone’s eye. “ You were a friend before, white man,” she said, “ but now you are a blood relation. When you pass this way, send me word, that I may cook food for you.” Long afterwards a rather similar experience befell the well-known African statesman, Sir Theophilus Shepstone.
The most dangerous animal in Africa is the buffalo; more dangerous than a lion or even a rhino. His cunning is abnormal. If he thinks he is pursued, he will gallop off down the narrow native path, and then silently double back through the long grass at the side of the pathway, and lie waiting in deadly silence till his enemy passes along the track. Then like a black thunderbolt he is upon the hunter. Unless a bullet strikes him in exactly the right place nothing will stop his charge. That unpleasant experience happened to Livingstone near the Leeba River. Before he knew where he was a furious buffalo bore down on him from its lair in the tall grasses. Not a tree was in sight, and Livingstone had to keep his nerve and risk a shot at about three yards’ distance. It was a wonderful shot, for it got the buffalo crack on the shoulder. Livingstone fell flat on his face in the grass, and the beast just missed him, and fell stone dead a few yards farther on.
In the picture books one generally sees very exciting drawings of buffaloes charging head down upon the hunter. These are, however, quite imaginary portraits; for the African buffalo never charges with his head lowered. If he did so he would not be nearly so dangerous as he is, for he would not be able to see his foe. On the contrary, he holds his nose straight out and keeps his fierce eye upon the hunter; while his horns, each of which measure perhaps three feet in length, lie well back upon his shoulders until just before striking down the enemy. It takes a cool head and a steady nerve to face a charging buffalo.
One evening Livingstone shot a buffalo, and camp was made not far from the spot. Attracted by the smell of the meat, a hungry lion came up quite close to the fires, and Livingstone was much amused to hear one of his natives tell the intruder what he thought of him. Many African tribes believe that the spirits of departed chiefs prowl about in the form of lions. On this occasion Livingstone’s servant gave the chief
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in disguise an example of native sarcasm. u You a chief, eh? You call yourself a chief, do you? What kind of a chief are you to come sneaking about in the dark, trying to steal our buffalo meat? A pretty chief! You are like a scavenger beetle, and think of yourself only. You have not the heart of a chief. Why don’t you kill your own beef? You have a stone in your chest, and no heart at all! ”
Unfortunately their native followers did not confine their night conversations to occasional lions and other wandering chiefs, but were apt to address one another on every manner of topic far into the night. One of them would suddenly break into song; another would rehearse his doughty deeds; two others would start upon politics, and the misgovernment of every chief in Central Africa appeared to be under discussion. In a modern safari no talking after dark is ever permitted for a moment by the bwana. And probably there were limits even to Livingstone’s patience. On that point his diary keeps a discreet silence.
Nearly nine months after Livingstone had left the coast he entered Libonta, and was received by his native friends there with great rejoicings. They heaped presents upon him, and when Livingstone apologised for not being able to give them much in return, “Never mind,” said they, “ you have opened a path for us, and we shall have sleep.” At Libonta he planted seeds and palms as he had done in other places. Almost anything would grow in that wonderful soil; and Livingstone, in his home dispatch, told people that this new land he had discovered might easily one day be one of the richest granaries in the world. He really did believe he had “ opened a path ” for all kinds of blessings to come along.