CHAPTER XV

Tramp III. Through the Four Kingdoms of the Protectorate

The Uganda Protectorate is built up of four independent self-governing kingdoms, besides some outlying districts to the South East, which are under the control of Chiefs. The kingdoms are—Uganda, Toro, Bunyoro, and Ankole. Toro is ruled over by a once rebellious branch of the Bunyoro tribe, that many years ago drove out the original inhabitants and established an independent kingdom. With this exception each state is absolutely distinct from the other in the general physique and customs of the people. All of the four reigning sovereigns have been baptised into the Protestant Faith, and excepting in the case of Daudi Chwa, King of Uganda, who is at present but a small lad, they are leading exemplary Christian lives and helping forward Missionary work in every way.

A circular tour of 600 or 700 miles through these districts could be accomplished just within one month, but this would involve heavy travelling and give but a feeble chance of appreciating the rapid transitions that are met with in country, animal life, and people.

It took us nearly nine weeks to go the round, as our object was to visit all the mission stations along the route. In Toro we deviated slightly from the direct path in order that church sites might be measured and pegged out. The English Government some months before had granted to the native church a certain amount of land which could be divided up and marked out wherever required. In the kingdom of Toro about 130 plots were chosen where, in the near future it is to be hoped, mission centres will be planted, manned by trained native teachers. Already between 90 and 100 have been taken up and occupied, which means that the country is slowly being net-worked with Christian testimony. Measuring and marking out land in these parts is a rather complicated business. Once only did I attempt to offer the help of my services, and never again. It means geometrically describing circles and right angles through the rankest weeds and tiger grass, stepping it out through swamp and marsh; planting young saplings at every point as boundary marks only to find all these carefully calculated demarcations removed after perhaps a few days, to suit the convenience of one of the land holders who was in need of firewood, or wished to extend his boundaries. _Quod non erat faciendum._

Starting from Kabarole, we took a south-easterly direction toward Ankole, making the first halt at Isumba, a charming spot on the banks of a crater lake. There are seven more of these large volcano puddles in the immediate vicinity, lying in the heart of mountains of various altitudes. The waters are extremely picturesque with the rich tropical vegetation extending from the lip of the crater down to the water’s edge. Hippopotami plunge about in the day time, while at night they lug their heavy bodies up the steep banks and snort about from one lake to another in search of food. The country round is very beautiful and reminds one faintly of Cumberland—hills, mountains, forests, and lakes—the monkeys and ourang-outangs, however, would not allow that idea to take root; they made a fearful noise as we passed near their quarters. They were too much for our little fox terrier, who worked himself into a great rage at being unable to get at these intruders of the peace; he simply made for the next native on the road (evidently thinking him one of the same tribe), but was driven off at the point of the spear that his antagonist was carrying.

The forest close to our camp was swarming with monkeys, which made wide turning movements from branch to branch when disturbed. I kept on wondering if one was not going to land on my head. The two days old baby monkeys led their big sedate mammas exhausting scampers from tree to tree. What a good thing it is that they improve in behaviour during the process of evolution!

At 9.0 p.m. a message came asking me to give medicine to a sick person close to camp. Taking our lantern we went out and administered physic, then hastened home as lions could be heard roaring some distance away. The oil unfortunately gave out before we reached our tent, and I must admit to a horrid sensation of fear lest one of them should spring out upon us from the pitchy darkness, as the roaring seemed to get nearer and nearer.

In the morning our cowman came in with the tidings that one of these creatures had broken through the zariba built round the cowshed and run off with one of the calves.

While encamped there a terrible storm visited us in the afternoon. We had watched the clouds rapidly gathering from all directions, increasing in density and rapidity until they collided together and crashed with terrific force on a near hill, blotting out all objects from view. Then, with united energy, these heavily charged thunder clouds bore down upon us with such anger that it seemed our little tents must be torn up and twisted into shreds. All the porters had been called out to stand each at his post to meet the enemy; and right well they did it, too, for as the tent cords snapped we must have soon been houseless if the men had not held on to poles and canvas. In less than half an hour the storm had passed, and then the porters set to work, repairing ropes, hammering in pegs, and redigging the trench round the tent.

The following day, after a hot, dusty march, we reached one of the mission stations, and before we had the chance of a wash-up and rest, the teacher came begging us to go to the church, where the people were all waiting. So in we went and found nearly two hundred squeezed into the tiny reed building (intended to hold one hundred), all roaring from the various grades of the reading sheet. Instead of stopping the clatter when we entered, a sign from the teacher made each one put greater exertion into his reading and they simply yelled out their lesson to impress us with the progress they were making.

After a short service with them, we were escorted to our tent by a considerable following. When my medicine chest appeared the scene was like the “Zoo” let loose. A guard had to stand round to prevent me from being suffocated; of course the majority of the applicants were shams. They watched to see which patient received the largest dose, then asked him what his complaint was, and by the time they had pushed their way to the dispenser were suffering from the same trouble, but in an acute form.

On the fourth day we reached the capital of a Saza or country Kitagwenda. Toro is divided up into five large chieftainships or sazas, each of which is governed by a man who has tributary chiefs. The “lord” of Kitagwenda was ready in state to receive us as we arrived. His round reed house is built on the brow of a hill, and is surrounded by a tall, imposing plaited reed fence. As we slowly climbed up the broad, well-kept path, the chief, dressed in white linen, came down to meet us with a large crowd of followers. He was very keen on impressing us with his greatness, so ordered a drum to precede him and one piper. The people were all wildly excited, dancing and shouting themselves husky. While this pandemonium was at its height, two poor, miserable-looking fat-tailed sheep were pushed forward for our acceptance. With these Uganda sheep all the good points were embodied in the tails. These are often as broad as the back, and hang in festoons almost to the ground. They are poor creatures, and are not cheap at 2s. 8d., which is their market value. I doubt whether one animal contains as much nourishment as two pounds of Welsh mutton. At this place two of our first trained women teachers had been at work. They had experienced some difficulty in getting the women interested, for digging, cultivating, and cooking had provided ample excuse for staying in their homes. On the second day of our visit we rallied all the women together at the tall mission church and urged them to stand by their teachers, who had come with a message of love and peace and would instruct them in wisdom. There and then classes were formed, and some sixty came forward for daily teaching. At night a body of soldiers were sent down by the chief to guard our camp against the lions, which were very numerous in these parts. The head officer, feeling the importance of his commission, essayed to issue his commands in true British fashion by using a few words he had picked up from the English lieutenant in Toro. He drilled his men just outside our tent door, and it was evident that the language of their general, as he bawled out incomprehensible English, was quite a conundrum to the men, and in concealed whispers he was obliged to repeat his orders in the native tongue.

A remarkably fine view of Ruwenzori snows was obtained at the junction of Ankole and Toro. With no cloud to intercept, miles of glittering ice stood out against a sapphire sky, and pushed down a hundred streams that tumbled in impetuous speed and flowed as swift rivulets through the forests that crossed our path. Only those who have known the weariness of continual walking in the tropics can rightly appreciate the joy that these forest shades and the cool, refreshing rivers bring. At no time of the year could the country have been seen to better advantage; the grass fires had carried off all the long withered grass, and the hills were now carpetted with fresh, green glades. The forests displayed a strange variety of colouring, for the young buds of spring, the luxuriant verdure of summer, blended in exquisite contrast and harmony with the gold and ruddy tints of autumn. Shrubs of wild jessamine and seven-petalled tuber roses were in rich bloom on the roadside. These latter are called by the natives “Eky skulema njoju,” “that which gets the better of the elephants,” for although the bark is comparatively slender, it can stubbornly resist the force of the powerful elephant trunks that make matchwood of the larger forest trees.

Two days further marching brought us to the boundary of Ankole, and glad were we to leave behind the rains of Toro, which had made the paths so slimy that with difficulty we maintained the perpendicular. Our peaceable caravan was evidently mistaken for a raiding horde. The villagers were in a most perturbed state of mind as we pressed on; the men collected together all their women, children, and goats and packed them off with all speed to hide in the swamps and hills, while a few of them remained hidden on the outskirts of the huts to sound an alarm at our approach.

The language at this point deviated from that spoken by the people of Toro. Besides employing a few entirely different words, the Banyankole soften down the s, j, and k, and until the ear has become accustomed to these changes one might imagine it a distinct dialect. A rather welcome sight was the _men_ working on the roads and digging in the banana plantations, in place of the peasant _women_ who do all the rough manual work in Toro. Ankole is a large ranch country. A gentle range of mountains extending toward the east shores of the Albert Edward is the only interruption to an extensive area of rolling land of which the whole kingdom is composed. It is inhabited by two separate races, the Bairu, who are the original people of the country, and the Bahima, the ruling race. The latter are an extremely superior order of people; generally speaking, they are of lighter complexion, and their features, in the sharply defined nose and chin and the thin lips, are in marked contrast to the other tribes of inland Africa. Another peculiar characteristic is that the women live in entire seclusion and keep the face and head covered, as in Mahommedan lands. It is generally believed that they migrated from Abyssinia or Arabia; probably disease among their cattle drove them from their native land, and they travelled south until they reached the pasture land of Ankole.

At first sight the country looks scarcely inhabited—there are no fences or patches of cultivation which elsewhere denote villages. The population, however, is considerable, but the people are a tribe of herdsmen, who build unpretentious little grass huts among the soft, waving grass, and live almost exclusively on their cattle, which graze together in enormous herds. The oxen are splendid creatures, with immense horns; there is not so much hump with them as with the cattle of Uganda.

The unvaried diet of milk and butter has produced a people of abnormal dimensions. The King, although only about 19 years of age, weighed 20 stone. He could not walk, but had to be carried about in a gigantic kind of clothes-basket. One little chief waddled into our tent to salute us who stood about three feet high and was nearly twice as large in circumference. The higher a person is in social position the larger is the amount of milk he must daily get down in order that he may reach a worthy correspondence in weight. On one occasion, while walking along the road, we heard screaming and shouting coming from a hut, and, on going in to find out the cause, saw a young princess with her eyes bandaged and face dripping with milk; an old hag was standing over her with a cane, which she brought sharply down across her shoulders when the unfortunate girl declared she could take in no more milk. Being remonstrated with, the old woman explained how the young princess was only going through the customary preparation for her bridal days.

As Uganda gradually opens up, Ankole will probably become the Leadenhall Market of the Protectorate. Excellent roads have been cut for transport to Entebbe, on the shores of the Victoria Nyanza, to Albert Edward Nyanza and Koki, and the Government has built a strong fort at Mbarara, the capital of Ankole, which is under civil and military control.

After years of bigoted opposition to the missionaries, the country has now been thrown open to them. A large mud church had just been completed when we visited there, and a large number of men and women were under Christian instruction. For generations there had stood in the Royal courtyard a large drum, which was absolutely believed to bring death to the King who beat it. Immediately after the baptism of the King, he, Kahaya, in the sight of a large crowd of his subjects, went deliberately towards the drum; then, loosening the sticks, he stood for a moment looking round at his people, who were expecting his instantaneous death. With one mighty swing he brought the sticks down on the drum, which only thundered out, as it were, the doom which fell that day on their old heathen superstitions.

Soon after arriving at the capital we went to pay our respects to the Royal Household.

Passing out from the new mud “palace” of the King, I went across to the ladies’ quarters. The seven wives of His Majesty Kahaya, who at that time was only an inquirer after Christianity, were all sitting silently in a semi-circle round the inside of their grass hut. The atmosphere was unbearably stuffy, and reeking with odours of rancid butter, for the custom is to rub this well into their bodies, and, without washing off the stale, they rub in a fresh quantity each day. They treat in exactly the same way the bark cloths in which they entirely envelop themselves. Not until I had become accustomed to the dim light could I distinguish the seven shrouded, dusky figures. Then they resembled so many ant heaps. After the usual voluminous salutations, they begged me to take off my hat and show my hair. I agreed, if they, on their part, showed me their faces. Immediately fourteen merry eyes popped out of the oily bark cloths, and a row of fat, smiling faces appeared. After satisfying their inquisitive questions about my clothes, my age, my parents, and how long I had been married, I tried to find out a little about them. From what I could learn, they seemed to spend all their lives huddled together as I saw them, with absolutely nothing to do except to feed. They neither cooked, sewed, plaited grass, cultivated, nor worked at any of the small industries common among other tribes. The Christian women teachers were visiting them each day, and a large number of women had shown a real desire to read. As their minds have been allowed to lie dormant for so long, it is a wonder that they can learn to do so really quickly.

After a few happy days spent in Ankole, we pushed on in a south-easterly direction to Koki. Scarcity of water necessitated rather longer marches than usual, so I indulged in the luxury of a hammock. Six men were taken on as carriers who did not understand the art in the least. They literally galloped away with me. The hammock swung to and fro with such force that the ropes on the pole gradually slackened, and the canvas hung like a sling with its burden doubled up inside. My gesticulations and calls were quite unavailing, as the carriers ran on, singing gaily; then they suddenly hauled the pole over from one shoulder to another, which was more than it could stand, and, with a squeak of pain, the ropes burst, and the hammock fell with a big bump to the ground. While I stood endeavouring to recover from the rather boisterous mode of travelling, the carriers walked round inspecting the shattered ropes and congratulated each other on being such men of strength!

We had reached a wide, scorching plain with no trees or shelter save a few tall thorn bushes, which made the ground all about like a pincushion with the points standing out. We had come along at such a rate that the caravan _and_ lunch basket were miles behind. One hundred and five minutes were spent under that thorn bush waiting for the rear with nothing to read, nothing to look at, and nothing to eat. I tried to think a thought that might find a niche in my next journal letter, but the sun must have nearly melted all the brain cells as it poured down its burning rays, for nothing took shape. To punish the men for their rash behaviour I inflicted on my carriers the punishment of searching for firewood, so that when our detached corps joined us we soon had the kettle singing and a chicken frizzling to replenish exhausted strength and revive our fainting spirits. The following morning camp was awake at 4.0 a.m., and a hurried start was made in the dark so as to get the day’s march over before the sun had a chance of treating us as it had done previously. But it was rather an unfortunate day to have tried the experiment, as our path for the first three or four miles skirted a long swamp, the haunt of mosquitoes, and these little pests had not been frightened away by sunrise before we ventured through their domain. They swarmed round us like locusts, and although we kept furiously beating out at them in all directions at once, the prodigious application of Homocea afterwards was, for the first time in my experience, ineffectual in allaying the inflammation and irritation. We spied a few monkeys in the trees, but instead of being up to their usual pranks they solemnly sat staring at each other, looking deplorably sorry for themselves; evidently the mosquitoes had proved too much even for them. I am sure they would have been willing to pay a pied piper any fee.

After five days journeying from Ankole we reached Rakai, the capital of Koki. The C.M.S. had two ladies stationed there and an ordained Muganda.

Koki was in former years an independent kingdom ruled over by Kamswaga, but in recent years it has been joined to Uganda, on the King agreeing to become a “Saza” of his stronger neighbours.

Excepting for Lake Kanyeti, which twists about among rich and varied vegetation, the scenery is unattractive—in the dry season the chalky soil gives an anæmic appearance to the country, and the rather too plentiful supply of swamps necessitates a large stock of quinine being always at hand. Kamswaga himself at that time had gone up to Entebbe on business, but hearing of our expected arrival had left us a greeting in the shape of an ox and quantities of food for our caravan. Visitors in these parts were rather a novelty, and the people came down in large numbers to look at us. I returned the visit of the wife of Kamswaga before leaving. Her reception house quickly filled with a number of men and women, each trying to get a word in edgeways with the “white” visitor. A handful of boiled coffee beans in the pods was passed to me to dispense to whomsoever I wished to honour. I was obliged to take a share, but that was very limited, for they are as hard as nuts to crack and like physic to swallow. On leaving they pressed round and bedecked my wrists with all sorts of curious wire and bead bracelets which they had taken off themselves.

The work being carried on there was, happily, prospering. The school, daily classes, and the church, holding two hundred people, were well attended.

A whole day’s excursion in a native skiff on the Lake gave us an opportunity of seeing something of the village work that has been opened up by the Mother Church of Rakai. We could not stay longer than three days, as there was still a long programme before us. Budu was the next district on the list to be visited.

This is the stronghold of Roman Catholicism. At every side road we found a tall wooden cross standing and nearly everybody wore a medallion or scapular.

At Kajuna the people were evidently not accustomed to seeing European visitors, and they came tearing out of their houses like mad creatures, dancing round us and clapping their hands. It was a perfect pandemonium, and we were not sorry to escape from such a rabble.

The two missionaries welcomed us very warmly. They were hard at work on a much needed house for themselves. The new building was a unique structure, for it was built only of one brick—that is, the walls were formed of solid mud beaten down between wooden boards, which were removed when the mud had dried. The roof was thatched with strips of banana bark knotted on rows of poles. This is supposed to offer stronger resistance to lightning than the usual grass. A regular timber yard had been set up in a strip of Forest close by to supply doors and windows for the new house, and the natives were receiving from the missionary practical lessons in carpentering as they felled the trees, adzed them out and then sawed out planks in pits. The scene suggested pictures of Canadian life among the Rockies. Truly a missionary in Uganda is a compendium of trades.

One of our hosts was an out-and-out Irishman, and when he was joined by an enthusiastic compatriot the conversation waxed very warm. I wonder if everyone belonging to the Emerald Isle regards it as the pole-star of the Universe—the two Sassenachs did not quite agree to it.

At the time of our visit twenty-one men and women were being finally questioned with a view to baptism. No chiefs were then under Protestant instruction, and in consequence there was little inducement for their dependents to associate themselves with our missionaries. It was therefore very pleasing to find this number ready to publicly confess their faith in baptism, for one felt they must have been prompted by an honest and sincere conviction.

A fifteen miles march from Kajuna brought us to the shores of the Lake Victoria Nyanza. Nearly six miles of the road was across a sand plain, and walking it was too much for me, for the boot at each step sank in four to six inches of burning sand. I was obliged to call the hammock-bearers to my assistance, who panted along without a murmur; but when they had safely landed me under the first tree of a lovely wood, they exclaimed “We are nearly dead.”

The two boats provided for us looked very frail and small to carry two Europeans, eight “boys,” two steersmen, two balers-out of water, twelve rowers, and all our loads. The boats on this Lake are constructed of boards hewn out by native knives, and sewn together with cane. There are no seats for passengers, but sticks and grass are laid at the bottom. There was a big gale blowing when we wanted to make a start—foam-crested waves broke on the shingly shore as if it had been the Atlantic. One is surprised to miss the brine in the spray, forgetting momentarily that so immense an expanse of fretful water is other than an ocean. We waited two hours for the storm to abate, when the boatmen came saying we could put off. As soon, however, as we had rowed well out, the wind got up again and blew with terrific force; immediately the lake was lashed into anger, and had no mercy on our little craft. The oarsmen were quite unable to keep her from being driven broadside to the storm. Sitting at the bottom of the boat we watched wave after wave bear down upon us like a wall and break over our heads. The boatmen assured us that we could not stand much more, for the cane fibre that kept the boat together was rotten and giving way under the strength of the breakers. The heavy tossing made us feel wretchedly sea-sick, but we dared not let our courage flag, as the men were losing heart. We had drifted completely out of our course, but fortunately were driven toward one of the Sese Islands, which we ultimately reached, drenched through and very exhausted. Here we pitched our tent for the night, and as evening came a dead calm settled down on the Lake, and insect life awoke, swarming round us in clouds. All night we kept waking up to assure ourselves that we had not contracted sleeping sickness, as this was one of the haunts of that disease.

The next morning dawned bright and calm, so we started before sunrise, startling the many gulls, divers, and herons that were indulging in a morning bath. The paddlers broke out into weird nautical songs; there is generally one man in a boat whose special work is to lead the singing to encourage the oarsmen. He begins with a loud shrill note, sustaining it with a few minor variations till a short stanza of the song is sung; then all the others join in with a deep, guttural grunt of assent to the words; this is repeated over and over and over again until the voice cracks. Seven hours’ rowing was as much as they would undertake in a day, so we landed on a beautiful little island which since then has been entirely depopulated by sleeping sickness. The sun was just about to say good-night when we put into Entebbe on the following day. The view from the water was quite enchanting. A bold, rocky promontory reminded one of a bit of the borderland coast between England and Scotland, otherwise the shore and islands were covered with the most prodigious forest growth.

As we landed from the boats and looked up at this town we really asked ourselves if this were Uganda. There are rows of neat villas with the strips of gardens back and front resembling the bijous of London suburban life; splendid wide roads with avenues of trees planted; a market with an English butcher, a dairy, an Indian bakery where delicious little loaves can be purchased for four annas, and an aggressive Indian firm that is the William Whiteley of Uganda, and manufactures mineral waters at two annas per bottle, are some among the many surprises. There is a very cosmopolitan population, and comparatively few of the real natives—Baganda—are seen in the town. The fifty or more Europeans made it feel very homelike after the isolated life in Toro; and yet after the first surprised impressions had partially worn off, one was conscious of two distinct elements running side by side—the English and the African—without actually becoming assimilated the one by the other. The result was that so many reminders of England brought with them feelings of home-sickness, but the next moment one was sympathising with the country yokel in London who pined for the rusticity of village home life.

Our four days there were spent very pleasantly. Colonel Sadler, H.M. Commissioner, Mrs. Sadler, and several friends were most kind and hospitable; indeed we were almost strangers to our tents.

A visit to the Botanical Gardens was most interesting. Mr. Mahon, who was then in charge, took us round and pointed out the tea, coffee, cocoa and cotton shrubs which gave promise of agreeing very amiably with their newly-adopted land. Fruit trees, vines and pine apples were also being experimented on, and the flower beds were aflame with colour. The idea is, I believe, to test what flourishes successfully in the Uganda soil, then to send out cuttings and encourage the cultivation of that plant throughout the Protectorate. Colonel Coles, who is in command of the troops, is a very keen horticulturalist, and has been most successful in rose-growing and in bringing to perfection the native crinum lily.

Leaving Entebbe, we made for Port Munyonyo by canoe, which took six hours in consequence of a wind working against us all the way. Reaching the Port at 5.0 p.m. we had no time to inspect the vigorous dhow-building that was in operation. We hurried off on our seven to eight mile walk into Mengo, which we reached just after seven o’clock. A roast leg of goat and steaming potatoes were being served up by our kind hostess as we entered. I think we had rarely enjoyed a dinner more than that one, as we had eaten nothing since 7.0 a.m. excepting two cold sausages and some bread and milk, the only things procurable from our food basket in the canoe.

This was the only time I had visited Mengo since first arriving in the country, and it was interesting to find out how many of one’s first impressions remained. Two years ago it had been to me a country unpenetrated, its people and language unknown, and now in a limited—very limited—degree the closed door had been pushed open and something from within had been revealed. In that time Mengo seemed to have made wonderful progress. A colossal brick cathedral stood on the site of the previous wicker building; it is a striking witness of what the Baganda can be taught to accomplish under such persevering and able instruction and superintendence as they have received. The educational work had developed considerably. At 8.0 one morning we went across to Mr. Hattersley’s boys school; he certainly had his work cut out, for I should not like to guess at the number of men and boys that were packed into the large class rooms, through which ran rows of desks and forms made at the Industrial Mission. At each class stood a native teacher setting sums or copies on the blackboards. His pupils were a strange collection, for a grey-bearded old chief would be sitting next to a sharp eyed infant, both eagerly wrestling with pen and ink. Specimens of writing, which had been acquired in six months, were shown to us, and they compared very favorably with a fourth or fifth standard in England. Every afternoon classes were held for the teachers for instruction in blackboard writing, geography, astronomy, natural history and Scripture, and these men were being sent out to the villages for educational work, when their course was completed. Since that time, scholastic work has received very special attention. A boarding high school for the sons of chiefs was opened in 1904, and the number of lads that were immediately sent by their fathers or guardians was a proof of its need. The Baganda are quite conscious of the fact that the time has come to rouse and equip themselves in order that they may be able to stand before the civilized nations with whom they are now brought so closely in touch.

A third school is also in course of erection, which will be an intermediate step for those desiring to train afterwards for Holy Orders.

The Industrial Department of the Mission is certainly one of the most necessary and practical methods of helping these people who possess no trades or crafts of their own. On passing along the road toward the Industrial quarters, one sees a crowd of men hard at work in the brick-fields, and others employed at rope-making. Entering the actual work-shop compound a buzz and whirr of machinery meet the ear. The first building is the carpenter’s sheds; here were men turning out book-cases, chairs, tables, and really a first-class sideboard. Across the courtyard the printers and stitchers were hard at work producing Lunyoro hymn sheets, Luganda hymns, Luganda commentary on St. Mark, and a book of Uganda fables by Ham Mukasa. Until within six months of our visit all this work, including the building of the Cathedral, had been started and supervised by one man. Uganda owes a great debt to Mr. Borup for the invaluable help thus rendered to the country.

The hospital, which was nearing its opening day when I had first seen it, was now in good working order and quite full up with patients; some, alas, suffering from the dread sleeping sickness.

No one then dreamed that the fine building was on the eve of being completely destroyed by fire. But such was the case. Within a very few months the scene of pain, yet of peace and comfort, had given place to one of noisy activity, for on the old spot there was immediately put in hand the erection of the present solid brick building with an iron roof to resist the lightning which destroyed its predecessor, and a concrete floor that can withstand the constant traffic up and down the wards. After a few days we again set off on the march, making for Bunyoro, in a northerly direction. A good road had been cut for a distance of a hundred miles by order of the Government for transport purposes toward the Nile. On the second day we overtook an oxen wagon caravan, which was being conducted by a young Englishman, who we found was down with bad fever and cough. We sent him milk and meat juice, but could not dissuade him from pushing on in the evening. The scarcity of food for porters on the road makes delays very difficult, and in his case, travelling by night was essential as the oxen cannot bear the heat of the day. But being jostled along on springless carts in the damp and cold African nights did not suggest much comfort for a patient suffering from malaria!

Next day on arriving in camp we found no less than three other European caravans settling in. A military captain and a ship captain were coming down from Bunyoro, and a trader was making for that direction.

Uganda is getting overrun with civilization! There is generally a little consternation and hurried confusion when an English woman is seen in camp. There is at once a shout for the “boy” who had relieved the pedestrian of his coat on the march, and a long search is made for the razor that very apparently had been some days in disuse. One of our fellow travellers who came in at afternoon tea suggested that a new regulation should be passed by the Government, ordering all ladies travelling on the road to send a white flag three miles ahead to warn fellow countrymen!

We did some fairly long marches on this road, as we were anxious to complete our tour, and although fifteen to eighteen miles do not look anything to the Londoner who is accustomed to record spins on his bicycle, yet I think he would find five hours walking day after day a laborious task, especially when it means rising at 4.0 a.m. We had been a little unfortunate in our culinary arrangements, for our cook was taken ill and had been obliged to return to Toro. We took on a substitute from our porters’ ranks, who knew nothing about cooking. I carefully taught him how to turn out a decent pancake which he seemed really to master, but a few days afterwards he served up hard, solid, flour-and-water dough-balls, saying he feared he had forgotten the recipe, so the process of teaching had to be gone through over again. He never would believe that anything could be cooked without water—roast goat he cooked in quantities of it instead of fat, and buttered eggs were swimming in brown swamp water! Then all our other boys got down with fever, and one day we were without a single attendant.

When we were half-way to Bunyoro, a Nubian caravan encamped close to us. We instantly ordered a close watch to be kept on our goods, as these folk have the reputation of being not too strictly honest. In spite, however, of vigilant guard, very soon things were missing. We succeeded in rescuing some articles from one of their temporary huts, but a large plate, which converted an open cooking pot into an African oven, was never found, and so we were deprived of bread and all baked food for the remainder of our journey.

The country was a monotony of undulating land, with no hills, forests, or rivers to interrupt the continuity of sameness. For three days we were travelling through a district of Uganda called Singo, where eight years ago Mr. Fisher was stationed. A particularly dreary spot was pointed out to me as the place where he lived for months quite alone, and had one attack after another of fever. During one of those occasions, a woman, the wife of the district chief, came a long distance twice a day to nurse him, and, when he lapsed into unconsciousness, she took a razor and shaved his head to ease him. He was rather a shock to himself when he was well enough to see his own reflection in the lid of a Huntley & Palmer’s biscuit tin—the only looking-glass then in his possession, as he had lost most of his things through a recent act of incendiarism.

We were delighted to catch sight of the hills that lie round Hoima, the capital of Bunyoro, on the seventh day. Mr. Lloyd, who had been Mr. Fisher’s fellow-worker in Toro, and chaperon to the party from England of which I had formed part, came scorching down on his bicycle to meet us, with a large following of natives who had come to greet “their father.” In the year 1895 Mr. Fisher had visited these people, who, up to that time, had never heard of Christianity, and in 1898 was located at Hoima in order to establish a European Station. Then the country was in the grasp of famine; the people, from the King down to his peasant subjects, came each day to the European teacher and his two Baganda assistants begging food. Through the generosity of friends in England and Uganda, a fund was organized, and with presents in kind from the Christians in Uganda and Toro, hundreds of the Bunyoro were saved from starvation. With the return of the rains, the famine terminated, but this time of trouble had created and cemented a confidence between the natives and missionary, who learned to know them then better than if he had lived years in the country at the time of its prosperity. The King, his brothers, sister, and several of the leading chiefs, became sincere inquirers after Christianity, and ultimately acknowledged their faith in public baptism.

The kingdom of Bunyoro is one of the most ancient now existing in inland Africa. Formerly it was the pre-eminent power of all the districts round and including Uganda, but for many years its strength has been on the wane through internal disaffections and external warfare. Toro, which was once ruled over by Bunyoro, broke away from its rule, and the Baganda gradually ascended north, appropriating to themselves large districts of Southern Bunyoro. Kabarega, then King of Bunyoro, was for years the terror of the surrounding weaker tribes. He was quite a remarkable character. Realizing the gradual decadence of his kingdom, with persistent effort and despotism he rallied his people together for one mighty struggle to regain their lost power. Marching on the surrounding weaker tribes, he raided, plundered, and burnt their villages, and King Kasagama (of Toro) and his people fled to the mountains for shelter. But in 1899 the British Government sent up a force of Baganda under Colonel Evett, who succeeded in taking prisoner Kabarega. The latter has since remained a prisoner in the Seychelles Islands. His son Andereya, an earnest Christian and an able man, is now reigning in his stead. The Bunyoro have always had a most elaborate priesthood and abundant ritual connected with their belief; hence it will be a long time before heathen customs and degrading forms of superstition will be effectually up-rooted.

[Illustration: OUR HOME IN TORO.]

After the discomforts of the road it was delightfully restful to revel in the refreshing luxury of easy chairs, sipping cups of tea, surrounded with a hundred and one reminders of dear old England, while a pink-cheeked, chubby baby grabbed at the flat nose of his black boy nurse and cooed with satisfaction at having two, new, civilized admirers. A week spent with Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd, during which time we were enabled to visit the people and hold some meetings with them, brought us to the final stage of our circular trip—a seven days’ march home. The anticipation of once more seeing Ruwenzori, our mud bungalow house, and all the Batoro folk, made one forget to write notes and comments of those few days. But no written records were necessary to keep at least one day green in the memory. The wet season had begun in real earnest, which did not improve the many unbridged swamps that lay across our path at constant intervals. One day we were plunging through grass, often twelve feet high, for nearly three hours right off. Emerging from that, we had to pass through a succession of nine swamps. The only possible means of getting across was to sit on the shoulder of a thoroughly sturdy and sure-footed porter, holding on with all one’s might to his woolly head. At the ninth swamp I had maintained that position for ten minutes, with feet held straight out in front, as my noble carrier stumbled among a broken down bridge, sometimes to his armpits in black mud. Actually weeping tears, I called down to my steed, “My friend, you must put me down, my back is broken with weariness.” Without a word he floundered off through the grass, having spied a fallen tree trunk on which to put down his burden. There we stood panting, too tired to speak, but a hallooing and a shouting at one side made us both turn round. There we saw the other European in a most indescribably mixed-up position, being brought along on the shoulders of two men, while two more hung on to a leg each. With scarcely a note of warning, the front man lost his foothold and disappeared with the second. The European immediately followed suit, but the remaining two stood their ground, still holding on to those legs.

Never did the Mountains of the Moon appear more fascinating than when we returned to our home under their shadow after nine weeks’ absence. The first to welcome us, four miles out on the road, was old Apolo Kivebulaya, the native deacon. Close by on his heels followed my little god-son, the first baptised pigmy, who looked characteristically grimy, but his ugly little face appeared really pleasing as he ran up and welcomed his master and mistress back with a grin that seemed to stretch from one ear to another. Then the Katikiro came out with thirty to forty retainers, all of whom he had dressed up in brand new white linen turban caps as a token of welcome to us. Last of all rode out the King. “Well done, my friends. God be praised for bringing you back.” And we could only in our hearts respond “Amen.”

[Illustration: TABALA, CHIEF OF MBOGA, AND SUITE.]