The hot equatorial sun, we were marching westward full of
pleasant anticipations that we were nearing the end of our
troubles, joyfully congratulating ourselves that within five days
we should see that which I had come so far from civilisation, and
through so many difficulties, to see, and were about passing a
cluster of villages, with all the confidence which men possess
against whom no one had further claim or a word to say, when I
noticed two men darting from a group of natives who were watching
us, and running towards the head of the Expedition, with the object,
evidently, of preventing further progress.
The caravan stopped, and I walked forward to ascertain the cause
from the two natives. I was greeted politely by the two Wahha
with the usual "Yambos," and was then asked, "Why does the white
man pass by the village of the King of Uhha without salutation
and a gift? Does not the white man know there lives a king in Uhha,
to whom the Wangwana and Arabs pay something for right of passage?"
"Why, we paid last night to the chief of Kawanga, who informed us
that he was the man deputed by the King of Uhha to collect the
toll."
"How much did you pay?"
"Ten doti of good cloth."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite sure. If you ask him, he will tell you so."
"Well," said one of the Wahha, a fine, handsome, intelligent-looking
youth, "it is our duty to the king to halt you here until we find out
the truth of this. Will you walk to our village, and rest yourselves
under the shade of our trees until we can send messengers to Kawanga?"
"No; the sun is but an hour high, and we have far to travel;
but, in order to show you we do not seek to pass through your
country without doing that which is right, we will rest where we
now stand, and we will send with your messengers two of our
soldiers, who will show you the man to whom we paid the cloth."
The messengers departed; but, in the meantime, the handsome youth,
who turned out to be the nephew of the King, whispered some order
to a lad, who immediately hastened away, with the speed of an
antelope, to the cluster of villages which we had just passed. The
result of this errand, as we saw in a short time, was the approach
of a body of warriors, about fifty in number, headed by a tall,
fine-looking man, who was dressed in a crimson robe called Joho,
two ends of which were tied in a knot over the left shoulder; a
new piece of American sheeting was folded like a turban around his
head, and a large curved piece of polished ivory was suspended to
his neck. He and his people were all armed with spears, and bows
and arrows, and their advance was marked with a deliberation that
showed they felt confidence in any issue that might transpire.
We were halted on the eastern side of the Pombwe stream, near the
village of Lukomo, in Kimenyi, Uhha. The gorgeously-dressed chief
was a remarkable man in appearance. His face was oval in form,
high cheek-bones, eyes deeply sunk, a prominent and bold forehead,
a fine nose, and a well-cut mouth; he was tall in figure, and
perfectly symmetrical.
When near to us, he hailed me with the words,
"Yambo, bana? - How do you do, master?" in quite a cordial
tone.
I replied cordially also, "Yambo, mutware? - How do you do, chief?"
We, myself and men, interchanged "Yambos" with his warriors; and
there was nothing in our first introduction to indicate that the
meeting was of a hostile character.
The chief seated himself, his haunches resting on his heels, laying
down his bow and arrows by his side; his men did likewise.
I seated myself on a bale, and each of my men sat down on their
loads, forming quite a semicircle. The Wahha slightly outnumbered
my party; but, while they were only armed with bows and arrows,
spears, and knob-sticks, we were armed with rifles, muskets,
revolvers, pistols, and hatchets.
All were seated, and deep silence was maintained by the assembly.
The great plains around us were as still in this bright noon as if
they were deserted of all living creatures. Then the chief
spoke:
"I am Mionvu, the great Mutware of Kimenyi, and am next to the
King, who lives yonder," pointing to a large village near some
naked hills about ten miles to the north. "I have come to talk
with the white man. It has always been the custom of the Arabs
and the Wangwana to make a present to the King when they pass
through his country. Does not the white man mean to pay the King's
dues? Why does the white man halt in the road? Why will he not
enter the village of Lukomo, where there is food and shade - where
we can discuss this thing quietly? Does the white man mean to fight?
I know well he is stronger than we are. His men have guns, and the
Wahha have but bows and arrows, and spears; but Uhha is large, and
our villages are many. Let him look about him everywhere - all is Uhha,
and our country extends much further than he can see or walk in a
day. The King of Uhha is strong; yet he wishes friendship only
with the white man. Will the white man have war or peace?"
A deep murmur of assent followed this speech of Mionvu from his
people, and disapprobation, blended with a certain uneasiness;
from my men. When about replying, the words of General Sherman,
which I heard him utter to the chiefs of the Arapahoes and
Cheyennes at North Platte, in 1867, came to my mind; and
something of their spirit I embodied in my reply to Mionvu,
Mutware of Kimenyi.
