Two Kings of Uganda

Front matter

OR,

BEING AN ACCOUNT OF A RESIDENCE OF SIX YEARS IN EASTERN EQUATORIAL AFRICA.

BY

Preface

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

I have taken advantage of the demand for a cheaper edition to bring the story of Uganda and its Kings up to date. Full use has been made of the important information which has come to hand during the past twelve months. To make the story compact and yet to keep the book within the limits necessary for a cheap edition, the last two chapters and the appendix, which give some account of the manners, customs, and language of the natives, have been omitted. Otherwise the book remains practically unchanged, with the exception of a very few verbal alterations. I cannot, however, allow this edition to leave my hands without speaking of one—now, alas! no more—the chief actor in many of the scenes here described, Alexander M. Mackay, who died on the 8th February, 1890, at the south of the Victoria Nyanza. How deep his loss to Africa only those who knew him well and saw his work can understand. He was one of those few who look fearlessly forth and seem to see the face of the living God. He never despaired of any person or anything. Quiet he was, and strong, and patient, and resolute, and brave; one on whom you might depend. He endured fourteen years of Africa, and what that means this book will in some measure help the reader to understand—fourteen years of the contradiction of men, black and white; fourteen years of dangers, fevers, sorrows, disappointments—and in all and through all he was steadfast, unmovable; a true missionary, always abounding in the work of the Lord.

R. P. A.

Wareham, May, 1890.

PREFACE.

The events of the last few years in Eastern Equatorial Africa have aroused so much interest in all quarters that a book which attempts to describe them at first hand ought not to need any apology, except on the score of the writer's deficiencies; and of these I am only too conscious. I should be sorry to deprecate criticism, but it is only fair to say that the following pages have of necessity been hastily written, amid many interruptions, and while engaged in other work. Indeed, they could hardly have been prepared for the press without the kind help and encouragement I have received on all sides.

I must first acknowledge the kindness of my old college friend, Mr. J. Spencer Hill, of the Clarendon Press, who has given me the greatest assistance in reading both the MS. and the proof sheets, and has always been ready with valuable suggestions, of which I have largely availed myself. For the three excellent illustrations of African scenery I have to thank the skill of Dr. B. Woodd Walker, who drew and re-drew them from my description, until I felt that the impression which I myself had carried away would be conveyed to the reader. I am indebted to the courtesy of Mr. Eugene Stock, editorial secretary of the Church Missionary Society, for so willingly placing at my disposal the publications of the Society; and I must acknowledge my obligations to Mr. Mackay and the Rev. R. H. Walker for the free use I have made of their correspondence. Mrs. Hannington has kindly allowed me to reproduce a part of the Bishop's last diary; and the Hon. Roden Noel has permitted me to insert his lines on "Samweli" from 'A Modern Faust.' I must also thank other friends for their willing help in transcribing a portion of the MS. for the printers. Lastly but not least I must acknowledge the kindness and courtesy I have received from Mr. Marston while the work has been in progress.

In conclusion, it may be well to explain some of the native names which constantly occur. In the title I have allowed the familiar word "Uganda" to remain, though the correct form is "Buganda," which becomes "Uganda" at the coast, owing to the phonetic interchange of "B" and "U." The root word is "-ganda; " Buganda is the country itself, "Muganda" a native of the country, "Baganda" the plural of "Muganda," and "Luganda" is the language. The same remarks apply to the interchange of "B" and "W" so often met with—e.g. the "Wahuma," as Speke names them, call themselves "Bahuma;" and I have followed their own pronunciation, although the Baganda call them "Bayima."

R. P. Ashe.

May, 1889.

Prologue

TWO KINGS OF UGANDA.

Twice within the last six years it has been my lot to make my way to the shores of the Victoria Nyanza, and for a little while to turn over the pages of the book of African life as it is revealed in those regions where I sojourned, and through which I passed.

As I begin my narrative, the same feeling is uppermost in my mind as that expressed by the traveller Burton, in his book on Zanzibar, where he speaks of the sadness and solemnity of sitting down to write the story of past years.

How darkly for me the record is stained with blood—blood of the boys put to death in Uganda; of the murdered bishop who perished on the shores of the Nyanza; of the martyred natives who so nobly died; and of yet another companion, killed at Mkange, a place within sight of the coast through which my fellow-travellers and myself had passed unscathed before him, only a few weeks since, on our way to Zanzibar.

But though death has been so busy among these pioneers of Christianity and civilisation, all who have fallen have bravely done their part, and have contributed much to the great work of opening up one of the finest portions of the globe to European influence and enterprise.

I hope in the following pages to show that Africans possess the seeds of solid character, which, when developed, will enable them to overcome the destructive elements in Western civilisation. If this be so, there is no reason to despair of the future of the dark races of Africa, nor to believe that the lives which have been laid down on their behalf have been sacrificed in vain.

Chapter 1

In May of the year 1882, a party of missionaries was on its way to various stations in the interior of East Africa, by way of Zanzibar. The journey down from Aden as a first-class passenger in the SS. Mecca was one of the most trying and disagreeable experiences of travel which I have ever undergone. I have dragged myself wearily over plains in Ugogo, and through the forests of Unyamwezi; I have been tossing for days on the Nyanza in native-sewn canoes; I have even been a passenger on a slave dhow upon the great lake; and I have more than once made the journey in an Arab dhow between Zanzibar and the mainland. But for thorough misery and complete discomfort, that long twelve days' struggle against the monsoon in the Mecca surpasses them all. As one of our passengers remarked with grim humour, we were of the number of those who say in the morning, "Would God it were even," and at even, "Would God it were morning." Overhead eternal blue sky—all around us eternal blue sea. Flying-fish were so numerous, and appeared so constantly, as to make the sight of them quite intolerable. The monotony was broken once or twice by a glimpse of Africa—now Guardafui, standing out bold and terrible in the burning sun, making one realise vividly the idea of

"Wild heat—raging to torture the desert."

Again, in the distance, the vague outline of the coast at Lamu, and further to the south, Mombasa.

At length the island of Pemba came into view, and we beheld with delight the glorious greenery of its tropical vegetation and forgot in a moment the discomforts of the voyage. Shortly afterwards we were within sight of Zanzibar, where we saw in the distance the white and dazzling buildings of the mart and capital of East Africa. A few more hours and we were lying at anchor opposite the Sultan's palace.

Zanzibar, or Unguja, as the natives call it, has been so often and so admirably described that I need not enter into any details. Had any of our party, however, possessed the poet Coleridge's faculty for counting abominable odours, he might have spent a considerable part of his time daily in doing so without exhausting the number. In this particular Cologne would be left far behind.

The streets of the city are narrow and tortuous, and in the wet season are simply watercourses. A walk through Zanzibar in a shower of rain is quite an adventure; overhead water is pouring off the flat roofs in cataracts, while underfoot is a swiftly-flowing torrent ankle deep. In fine weather, however, the whole town is alive with bustle and business, and bright with the variegated costumes of many nations. Shops there are of all kinds and descriptions, kept by all manner of people. Fair-faced languid-looking Indian women sit and display their wares, waiting patiently for customers, as also men of the same nation, who, to judge by their appearance, have evidently grown fat upon their gains; their commodities include cotton-stuffs, spices, gold and silver thread, lamps, attar of roses, onions, and other miscellaneous articles of frequent barter. Fruit-shops too abound, kept by vivacious negroes; there are also not a few almost European establishments owned by Goanese, where anything in reason may be purchased, from a dress-suit to a packet of pins. Arabs are stalking along with an air of superb contempt—the Arab has certainly mastered the art of looking as if the place belongs to him. Here comes one of them riding a gaily-caparisoned donkey, his slaves running in front calling out, "simila, simila," "by your leave." Now we meet a big black man carrying two enormous bunches of bananas slung over his shoulder at each end of a stick, he also cries out "simila." At another place a bevy of women and girls, every one of them slaves, are at work carrying mortar and stones for the masons who are building a neighbouring house, all the while chanting some monotonous but not unmusical African melody. Further on a number of men chained together are at work. They are the Sultan's chain-gang undergoing penal servitude for offences against his Highness, or at the instance of some one of the European consuls. One day I encountered the Sultan's soldiers in a narrow street; to my surprise they politely broke their ranks to let me pass. The army is, on the whole, well-drilled, and, could the men be depended upon to obey a European, they would be formidable antagonists to any opposing native force on the mainland.

It had been arranged that we should take up our quarters at the French hotel. I was invited, however, to be the guest of the Universities Mission at Mbweni, a beautiful place some four miles out of the town, where there is a large and flourishing training establishment for freed slave-girls. There were many wonderful things at Mbweni, including among others a steam-roller; but what struck me most was a novel kind of razor in use among the girls, which consisted of a piece of broken glass with a chisel-shaped edge. I have never seen this substitute for a razor anywhere, although shaving the head is a universal custom among Africans.

After nine days of preparation, we found ourselves on board an Arab dhow bound for the mainland, with a fair breeze behind us. The dhow was a dirty and dingy craft, some forty feet long by nine feet beam. She had no deck, and so we were obliged to perch ourselves unhappily here and there on the top of boxes. When we neared Sadaani the tide was out and our vessel stuck fast some quarter of a mile from the beach, bumping heavily on the bottom as every wave rolled under her. This must have been most damaging to the dhow, it certainly was exceedingly unpleasant for her passengers. We were not, however, long left in this situation. A miserable dug-out canoe half-filled with water came alongside to take us ashore. And so at last, as the sun was going down, our little company stood safe and sound on African soil.

It is needless to dwell much upon the details of our outfit, but I may mention some of the mistakes which were made: we were provided with Epsom salts by the stone, but found ourselves short of common table salt. Our large supply of castor oil was but a poor compensation for the entire absence of such a necessary as butter, and for my part I would gladly have exchanged our elaborate distilling apparatus for another common tea-kettle. The ordinary equipment of an African traveller consists of tents, camp-beds, chairs, stools, buckets, pots, pans, cups and saucers, plates, blankets, guns, pistols, boxes of clothes and books, scientific instruments, provisions and medicines. He carries with him also goods for barter, consisting of bales of cloth made up into loads of from sixty to seventy pounds; beads of various kinds, copper, brass and iron wire, gunpowder, and soap, which is a very important article of commerce in the interior.

Our caravan was made up of nearly five hundred porters, or Wapagazi, as they are called—none too many for a large party of seven white men, a greater number of Europeans than is usually seen together in Central Africa. Our leader was Mr. Charles Stokes, who had already made the journey to Uganda; the others were the Revs. James Hannington (the future first Bishop of Eastern Equatorial Africa), Cyril Gordon, Joseph Blackburn, Walter Edmonds, Mr. Wise and myself.

Each of us had engaged one or more Zanzibar or Freretown mission boys as personal servants. My boy, Tom Tofiki, was quite above the average, and possessed, at any rate, the great virtue of honesty; he was somewhat sluggish and by no means a good walker or worker—in fact he either would not or could not do anything very well except sing hymns, and that he did excellently. He never learnt to cook anything except "ugali," a thick coarse kind of porridge, and he used every morning to concoct a peculiar compound which he called coffee, but which rather exercised one's faith when it appeared at breakfast.

Our other porters were distributed in three camps: the Wangwana or Zanzibaris, who were all nominally Mahometans; the Wanyamwezi, whose country stretches from the other side of Ugogo to the Nyanza, and the Wasukuma, or people of the north, who live on the shores of the lake. The Wangwana individually often display many fine and admirable qualities, though in large numbers they generally give infinite trouble. My experience with them on the whole has been fortunate, and I rarely found them insubordinate without some apparent reason for their disobedience. The Wanyamwezi belong to a sturdy and enterprising race; they come in great numbers to the coast, conducting their own caravans. I have often seen four or five hundred of these people travelling entirely on their own account, bringing the ivory belonging to their principal chiefs to the coast for sale. It is curious that the Wagogo, whose country lies between the Wanyamwezi and the sea, rarely or never venture to Zanzibar themselves, but are content to make the Wanyamwezi pay toll for passing through their territory, both going and returning. The Wasukuma, or Northerners (which the name implies), who live on the south and south-east shore of the Nyanza, are in many respects similar to the Wanyamwezi, but are even less civilised. In their own country the men, at any rate, entirely dispense with clothing; but at the coast they give way somewhat to the prejudices of civilisation. All the porters, whether from Zanzibar or from the interior, are divided into small companies under head men, at the coast called "Wazee," or elders, by the Wanyamwezi, "Wanamhara" or "Wanyampara," which has the same meaning. It is an almost universal custom for people from the interior to take a new name when they reach Zanzibar. Mahometan names are often chosen, such as Hamisi, Omali, Tofiki, and the like.

After a couple of days at Sadaani we began our long march into the interior. Of this town I need say little: it is a mongrel and miserable place, partly Arabian, partly Indian, and wholly African. We were courteously received by Bwana Heri, its governor, who finds it to his interest to keep on good terms with Europeans. Soon after leaving the town we entered on a beaten track or footpath some eighteen inches or two feet wide. Footpaths of this kind wind on from village to village, and connect tribe with tribe, so that the traveller finds the way clearly marked and well defined throughout the whole of this wide region.

The first few marches were not examples of successful African travelling; frequently we were up and off without anything to eat; often we had to wait for hours after reaching our camp until our tents came up, and before the cooks could prepare any kind of a dinner another couple of hours had usually passed away. On one occasion we were twenty-four hours without a meal—a specimen of the blunders which inexperienced travellers make, and sometimes with fatal results, of which the African climate is made to bear the blame, rather than the travellers' carelessness. Nor did matters seem to improve as we advanced, the fact being that there were far too many of us for comfortable travelling. While making the first stage of our journey through Useguha, we were fairly well supplied with native food—unripe bananas boiled and mashed, beans, sweet potatoes, rice, and the invariable fowls and goats. One day, while enjoying this fare in our dining‐tent, we saw to our consternation that the grass to leeward of us had been set alight by the natives, and soon a glorious line of fire came sweeping up towards where we were encamped. Immediately our men rushed out pell-mell to meet it, armed with boughs and sticks, and after an exciting contest succeeded in beating it down. Soon afterwards, while we were finishing our dinner, we saw all the men rushing madly off in the direction of the villages, yelling and brandishing their spears and other weapons, intent on taking revenge upon the natives, who had twice this day fired the grass in the neighbourhood of our camp. Stokes dashed after them, calling out as he passed, "Gentlemen, my men are off, and I cannot stop them; you may write that in your books." Alas, how often has the African traveller to write in his journal that his men have bolted; he is only fortunate if they do not take some of his valuables with them. I think our porters reckoned on the support both moral and physical of the white men; but when they saw that we were determined to prevent their attacking the natives, they obeyed their head men and came quietly back, and so ended what to us had been a very exciting day. We travelled on slowly, passing by the hills of Enguru to the beautiful mountain region of Mamboya, which is the first English mission station on this route. It is situated on the side of a lofty hill, which rises far above it; and, standing on the verandah of the house, we looked sheer down into a circular valley enclosed by a glorious panorama of mountains, which tower one above another, and stretch away mountain beyond mountain until they lose themselves in the blue distance.

Chapter 2

Reluctantly we left Mamboya and turned our faces westward once more; the road here winds along the rocky mountains which stretch for fifty miles up to Mpwapwa or Mhamva, on the borders of the Malenga Makali, the "wilderness of bitter waters." This road is proverbially dangerous, being infested by the Ruga-ruga, or fighting men of the Wahehe tribe. The danger is no imaginary one, as I know by experience, for in the year 1886 I sent one of my men this way with a message, when he was badly wounded, and a Munyamwezi man who was with him was shot dead. The last time that I passed through the same district I myself saw the naked body of a poor lad, doubtless some straggler from a passing caravan, lying dead at the side of the path, pierced by many spear wounds. It is not surprising, therefore, that our party should encounter these notable Ruga-ruga. About a dozen of them showed themselves to our advanced guard; but when they saw white men armed with guns, they made a precipitate retreat, their flight accelerated by a volley from the guns of the Europeans. I was behind at the time and did not share in this victory. One of our party, however, very nearly lost his life, for during the en- counter, his neighbour's gun went off by accident and shot the sight off the rifle which he was holding, but fortunately did no further damage.

The Malenga Makali, or Wilderness of Chunyo, is so called from the strong saline water found at both sides of it, which is especially strong in Ugogo. We made our camp at the entrance of this waterless tract; but before undertaking the next stage of our journey, we visited the beautiful mission station of Kisokwe. There we stayed till late, talking with our hospitable hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Cole, for we knew that we should be able to make our way to our camp by moonlight. At midnight, when we reached the wind-swept plain in which our tents had been pitched, we found that they had been blown down. We shouted in vain for our boys. At last we began pulling the tent about, intending to set it up ourselves. A deep and sleepy groan issued from the tangled heap of canvas and ropes, and out crept our boys Tom and Robert, the youths whose duty it was to have had the tent ready for our reception. This little incident is an admirable illustration of African character. Sooner than take the very small amount of trouble involved in tightening the ropes and hammering in the pegs, they preferred to let the tent collapse entirely. The expression "Haithuru," the Irishman's "Och, it'll do," is the formula with which both Celt and Swahili leave undone, with an untroubled conscience, any necessary but distasteful duty.

The next afternoon we entered the wilderness and kept on until nightfall, when we waited an hour or two for the appearing of the moon, by the light of which we intended to continue our journey. In a few minutes the prairie, which but an hour before had been loneliness itself, the silence only broken by the incessant chirping of the grass crickets, or the call of some night-bird, or the weird, dismal howling of the hyænas, was suddenly blazing with a hundred fires, and loud with the crackling of dry fuel, and the laughter and ceaseless chatter of our five hundred porters. A few hours later solitude again resumed her reign, and the scene relapsed into the silence from which it had been so strangely awakened. Wearied with our long night march, we were glad indeed as the dawn broke to find ourselves entering upon Ugogo.

Ugogo is a succession of great bare plains, enclosed by hills, rising abruptly from the level of the plain, which is studded here and there with the enormous baobab or "embuyu" trees, and at frequent intervals the small villages or "tembes" of the people. These are long, narrow, low, mud-roofed buildings forming an enclosed square, into the centre of which the cattle are driven at night. A "tembe" may contain from two to twenty families, according to its size. The architecture of Ugogo is the poorest attempt at house-building I have ever met with, except the grass huts of the handsome Watusi or Wahuma herdsmen.

The Wagogo, like the Masai have large herds of cattle, but they cultivate the ground extensively, while the latter do not. I imagine that they are very closely allied to the Masai tribe; for their weapons are much the same, and it is a moot point whether the Masai supply the Wagogo with the great broad-bladed spears they use, or vice versâ. The Wagogo warriors are a wild-looking set with their great spears and painted shields. Their dress consists of a bib of leather, not reaching quite to the waist; a small square of leather hangs behind, and serves as a mat to sit upon; a thong of hide round the waist, falling down at one side or behind, giving them the appearance of possessing a tail. They twist string of their own manufacture into their short woolly hair, and the ends hang down to their shoulders like long plaited hair. Both men and women frightfully distend the lobes of their ears, and the women insert a piece of wood which looks like a large-sized "draughtsman." The pear-shaped end of a bottle-gourd is also a usual ornament for the ears of both sexes, as well as other miscellaneous articles; I have seen, for instance, a husk of Indian corn, a snuff-box, the handle of a teacup, an empty cartridge-case, and a bishop belonging to a set of chessmen, fulfilling this duty of ear-distender. Our party was a source of continual wonder to these unsophisticated people. I recollect one day, when separated from my companions, being found by a group of Wagogo. I was evidently a new sort of man, and the first specimen of the kind which they had ever seen. Their astonishment knew no bounds. One old man ventured to approach while I stood still for inspection; he cautiously advanced one finger till it touched my beard, and then timidly withdrew it. The next thing which attracted his attention was my ear; he again put out his hand and very gently took hold of it, feeling it to see what it was made of, but I had no time to spare them for more minute examination.

Water was always a difficulty in Ugogo, and at one camp it was so bad as to be, I should think, poisonous; it did not lose its horrible stench even when made into strong coffee. It was here that one of our companions, Hannington, became so ill that we almost despaired of his life. In fact he sent for us to say farewell. We revived him, however, with stimulants, and in a day or two more he was able to be carried forward.

We passed out of Ugogo into the great wilderness called the "Mugunda Mukali," which separates Ugogo and Unyamwezi. This Mugunda Mukali, "or terrible garden," takes at least six days to pass through, and food has to be carried to last during that time. Our porters bought their meal, and, wrapping it in a piece of calico, slung it round their waists; this, and the calabash for water and the cooking-pot which every fifth or sixth man carried, completed their outfit. The dreaded banditti, or Ruga-ruga, also infest this wilderness, and it was while journeying here that a young Englishman named Penrose lost his life some years before. He had been sent out by the Church Missionary Society, and was bringing up a caravan from the coast. A chief named Nyungu, whose villages lay at some distance from the caravan route, had recently quarrelled with a French traveller, the Abbé du Bayx. The Frenchman had a powerful and well-armed caravan, and the chief was afraid to attack him; but he vowed vengeance against the next white man who passed that way, and this happened to be young Penrose. He was deserted by his men, who carried off his ammunition in their flight, and, though he stood his ground, he fell at last overpowered by numbers. This encounter took place by the banks of a small lake called Chaya. Some time afterwards, our leader Stokes passed the place, and among the skulls which were lying about picked out one which from its conformation seemed to be that of a European, and buried it. We emerged from the Mugunda Mukali with a great firing of guns and rejoicing on the part of our porters at having come in safety through the "terrible garden." We spent a day or two at a place called Itura, and then once more entered a wilderness, which stretches some sixty miles up to Uyui, the second stage of our journey. Here, while making a night march, we came suddenly upon a lion at his supper. We had left our camp at midnight with about twenty porters, as there was a glorious moon. Stokes, with the main body, was to follow the next day. Hannington and I were behind, and he was propounding the question "who was the prophetess Noadiah." However, the sudden crack of a rifle a few hundred yards ahead, followed by a sustained fusillade, rudely dismissed Noadiah from our thoughts, and concluding that it must be an attack of the ubiquitous Ruga-ruga, we rushed to the front, where we found a scene of great confusion. Many of the party were scrambling up a tree, loads were lying about in all directions, some of the men were holding their emptied smoking guns, a fine retriever dog which we had with us was barking furiously; and all this commotion was caused by the royal diner-out, no doubt annoyed at being so unceremoniously disturbed. Hannington in a state of great excitement seized his fowling-piece; Tom handed me my pistol which he was carrying, and Gordon grasping his umbrella, we advanced to the attack. Hannington's guardian angel, in the shape of one of the porters, now rushed forward, imploring him not to imperil his life, and to emphasise his appeal he hung on to his master's coat-tails. Hannington sent his would-be deliverer reeling backwards; but during this little diversion, one of my tent-boys, Robert, rushed past us with a small rifle which he had borrowed from one of our companions, and wildly let fly, as quickly retreating again. The lion now drew off further into the jungle, where we could still hear his angry growling. Then came a struggle in Hannington's mind, between his passion for adventure and more prudential considerations; but I think we all felt that it was hardly worth while to run the risk for no particular purpose of receiving the attack of a wounded lion—we could not hope at the first shot to do more than disable him, since it was too dark to see anything, and besides we were insufficiently armed, and therefore we turned tail and left him master of the field. Our porters, seeing that the attack was abandoned, now descended from their tree, and once more we resumed our journey, but not till late the next day did we reach Uyui.