CHAPTER XVI

Tramp IV. Towards the Pigmies

While the Kingdom of Toro has distinctly defined boundaries on the East, North, and South (the latter two being the Albert and Albert Edward Nyanzas) there are no lines of demarcation that bound it on the West. It adjoins the Protectorate to the Belgian territory that extends across from the Congo Free State, and until that boundary is officially fixed the Kingdom of Toro may be said to include a number of untamed savage tribes with a portion of the pigmies, who recognise no authority and rule outside themselves.

Immediately the Toro Mission was established its first branch station was planted about sixty miles west in Mboga, the district that touches Stanley’s Great Forest—the home of the pigmies. Although the chief offered much opposition to the Baganda missionaries, yet the workers persistently held on, realising its important strategic position for reaching the many tribes round its borders, and it formed one of the few last links yet to be forged in order that Krapf’s dream of a chain of missions extending across Africa might be fulfilled. After opposition had burnt itself out and the Chief Tabala had himself become a Christian the work prospered vigorously, and in 1903 the number of men and women baptised reached over two hundred.

In that year the question of boundary line between Belgian and British territory was again raised to be finally marked out. The decision would either result in the district of Mboga being retained by the British, or given over to the Belgians in exchange for a strip of land farther south, in which latter case the River Semliki would form the natural dividing line.

It was considered expedient, pending the arrangement between the two Governments to strengthen in every way possible the mission work at Mboga so that it might not be shaken should it ultimately lie outside the Uganda Protectorate.

It was, therefore arranged that in the five months remaining before leaving for furlough in England we should fit in a visit to that district. The time of year fixed on for starting was a little unfortunate, as the wet season was in full working order, and that never adds an enviable charm to the gipsy life of African travelling. It was evident that we were getting near the end of the prescribed period of service, for instead of gaily trudging off in stout boots and puttees, we pushed off from Kabarole with a donkey and a hammock, the only available modes of conveyance.

When only three miles out we were overtaken by one of Toro’s special storms. The heavily laden clouds had been running off towards the west when Ruwenzori stood in their way and forbade them. So, in a terrible temper, they turned back and gave us the full benefit of their tears. My hammock bearers did not seem to mind; certainly they had nothing on that would spoil, and I believe these casual drenchings are the only occasions on which many of them feel the touch of water on their bodies. I have often seen them trying to avoid even this by taking shelter under a tree and holding a huge banana leaf over their head, when only clothed in a tiny goat skin. The donkey slipped along behind with its rider enveloped in a commodious mackintosh that left only the donkey’s nose and feet visible. In order to get to the mission station of Busaiga, where we were to spend a day, we had to turn off for two miles along a sloppy kind of sheep-track path, which the donkey managed better than my men, who stumbled along in the mud, very fearful lest they should let their burden down. The man carrying our bath went before to warn them of danger; but we passed him half-way, for with a splash he fell. No one seemed to regard it as anything unusual, and continued marching on. Looking over the side of my hammock, the last I saw of him was a hopeless mix-up of black man’s limbs and bath sitting in inches of mud.

It was very good to find a big fire burning and a hot cup of tea ready in a well swept native house that had been prepared for us, and designated for our temporary use. In the afternoon our tent was well surrounded by broad grins and inquisitive eyes as we were “at home” to callers. They continued coming in from 1.30 to 5.30, by which time the air felt heavy, so we escaped for an evening look-out. The complete range of mountains was clearly defined from south to north and terminated close to us, in the Semliki plain. Towards their northern base rested a heavy dense bank of white cloud that slowly glided along. When it had reached the farthest shoulder of the range, it woke from its soliloquy and with a mighty effort plunged upwards, and in a few minutes flooded the whole country with a dense, damp mist.

The first of May dawned in all the brightness of its reputation. Lake, plain, valleys, and mountains appeared in their brightest garments to do honour to the day, and the air trembled in its endeavour to laud the Creator. No wonder that the people swarmed out of their stuffy little huts for morning service. It was then pointed out to them that their house of prayer needed rethatching, and in less than three hours the “restoration of the church” was completed, for streams of tiny naked figures went off and returned with a few strands of grass balanced on their heads; the women followed with heavier burdens, and the men were standing ready to tie it into small bundles and stuff them into the thatch. There was here as everywhere a great demand for “reading sheets,” and those who did not possess five cowrie shells (half a farthing) wherewith to purchase one brought in a bundle of firewood, two eggs, or undertook any little job in order to earn the sum. In the afternoon we had meetings for men and women. At each gathering over one hundred were present, which must have included nearly all the adult inhabitants of the place. The audiences one meets with in the villages are distinctly responsive; they evidently have an idea that it is a slight to leave the European to do all the talking. In the middle of your “sermon” one native will burst out with “Aye, aye, that’s so,” and the whole company will agree in chorus. Then, again, they will repeat after you a whole sentence that has struck them, and when your oration is over they all exclaim “That’s very good; well done, very well done.” It is most encouraging to a nervous speaker.

Leaving Busaiga, we descended to a wide plateau, which was most likely at one time a lake bed, but the water has run off and left it quite dry. The curious parallel gorges, where villages now nestle, resemble immense yawning cracks formed by the land calling out for water. In one of these clefts, where there was a sleepy little hamlet, we pitched camp. The old chief of the place was sitting in his courtyard contentedly smoking a huge pipe. He did not take the least notice of our arrival, and, from what he said, if we had been a party of plunderers, he would have assumed exactly the same immovable attitude. It was a very stuffy place; the heat seemed to fall down listlessly in the little valley and had no strength to move off at night. As for the varieties of insects that visited us as the candles were lit, even the most initiated naturalist must have been puzzled at classifying them.

[Illustration: THE SEMLIKI RIVER.]

On the following day we were up at daybreak to cheat the sun, which we expected would do its worst for us in the exposed Semliki plain. When we reached that level, although it was only 8.0 a.m., the heat was almost unbearable. The little donkey must have felt it rather badly, for it upset itself in the mud, and this twisted into weird contortions the invaluable umbrella that was being carried on its back. The Semliki River has to be crossed half-way across the plain; its waters are of a thick grey colouring, and in them are smuggled away crocodiles, all sorts of fierce fish with tusk-like teeth, and fever germs. A big dug-out canoe came over from the opposite bank to ferry us across, and then returned to fetch our porters, ass, and cows. The animals took most naturally to the skiff—which might perhaps be traced back to their ancestors of the Ark period.

In the cool of the afternoon an old fisherman punted me out in his canoe. He attracted my attention to a big crocodile drawn up on the bank—it suddenly woke from its sleep and slipped into the water for an evening ablution. These dug-outs are scarcely what you might call inviting. I have never seen one that does not leak considerably, and it is difficult to imagine yourself comfortable when seated on a few rushes at the bottom of the boat, feeling all the time the water oozing in under you.

Antelopes simply abound in the plain. In one spot alone there must have stood forty of these peaceful creatures. They evidently understand that all their district is preserved against the sportsman, for they now venture quite close to the path and look at passers by with the greatest impertinence. Two fine creatures with handsome antlers stood defying our caravan only about fifty yards away, and simply refused to be frightened off.

Mboga stands on a ridge of hills about 18 miles on the opposite side of the plain to Ruwenzori. The scenery was in charming contrast to that on the previous day’s journey as we lifted up on to high land. Forest arteries flowed through every bend and hollow from the great aorta of Stanley’s Pigmy Forest that stretched away for miles behind the Mboga Hills. The trees closely resembled the English oak and mountain ash; there was a marked scarcity of flowers, and my butterfly net remained quite limp as we climbed up for three hours till the Mission station appeared in sight. The people that came out to meet us broke up into two parts; the one went with Mr. Fisher to superintend camping operations, and I was borne off by the others to the Chief’s reception hall to hold audience with his mother, who had ready a big black native pot of smoked milk to offer me. Over one hundred women then streamed in to look at the first European lady who had visited their country. They exclaimed, “Bwana Fisher has much grace and love, for he was the first white man to come and tell us of the religion of Christ, and now he has brought to us the first lady.” A large open shed had been erected by the Chief Paulo Tabalo, under which our tent could be erected and so sheltered from the burning heat of the day, and it also provided us with a large airy sitting room, which was necessary for the four weeks we intended to remain.

The first thing that was absolutely essential to take in hand was the building of a new Church, for the reed one standing was totally inadequate to accommodate the people. Consequently each morning after a brief service the men and women poured across to the new site to start operations. The men, headed by their Chief, went off into the forests for poles, and the women, laying aside their white linen draperies, handled their hoes, and in a few days had completely cleared the plot of all the long grass with which it had been covered. It was quite astonishing to see the rapidity with which everybody went to work, and although the proposed large mud church looked rather a formidable undertaking, the Christians insisted on building a permanent mud house adjoining the Church, which they hoped would secure more frequent visits from the Missionary, or procure them an ordained teacher from Uganda.

The late Sir Henry Stanley, in “Darkest Africa,” has given a most vivid picture of Mboga in his time. It was there he met with so much trouble and savage opposition from the natives. Paulo Tabalo tells a thrilling story of how his father collected together a large army to oppose the great white man on the banks of the Semliki River, but was compelled to flee, leaving behind a number of slain.

Oppression has given place to justice, turbulence to peace, and the most abject fear of and subordination to the Evil Spirit is gradually being overcome by knowledge and trust in God.

Stepping out from our tent one evening, I strolled away to a near hill to watch the sun set. As it slowly disappeared behind a low ridge of distant mountains it scattered trails of golden light across the plain, through which the white waters gleamed. Then for a few brief minutes the vast Ruwenzori Range appeared completely vestured in a deep pink transparent mist, above which shone as a coronet the pure white snows. Never again in the four weeks we spent there was such a wonderful effect repeated.

The hushed stillness was suddenly broken by a voice that issued from a little hut almost hidden from view. Glancing round a tall rock that stood between, I saw a dusky figure sitting in the doorway peeling potatoes for the evening meal. She was quite unconscious of any intruder, and as she bent down over her work she sang in the native tongue “Like a river glorious is God’s perfect peace.”

Mboga of the present is a “Cave of Adullam” to the numerous surrounding tribes who have fled from the hands of plunderers and raiders and come to settle down under the peaceful rule of the Christian Chief.

Among the thirty-six men and women who had been instructed and were then presented for baptism there were representatives of five different tribes, three of whom were the first-fruits from those tribes. I held a daily class with them for three weeks, and so had a chance of comparing the brain power of these people. Certainly the one pigmy did not by any means stand last in the class; on the other hand, he displayed a very keen perception and often turned round to his neighbour and tried rather impatiently to rub in the point. On the other hand, he was entirely lacking in concentration, and it seemed impossible to pin his mind down to the subject under discussion. Every afternoon the people stopped work for two hours in order to go to Church to listen to the white missionaries’ words. On the first Sunday a hint was thrown out to them that they should study together in their homes, and so help each other to understand their Bibles better. The day following Paulo called his people together in his audience hall and told them that they had listened to very good words from their European friend and teacher, and he felt that if they were to become strong and be blessed by God they ought to carry out the advice given. Several of them thereupon started systematic Bible study in their homes. Many of the Christian women came to my afternoon class with questions prepared which they had planned out together; and they helped each other to make notes of my answers. I was surprised at the intelligence shown in their questionings, for they had received practically little teaching and are not naturally sharp. They asked many things about the Epistles, when they were written, whether on St. Paul’s journeyings or when in imprisonment; then they wanted to know the meaning of “Alpha and Omega” and “the woman clothed with the sun,” etc., etc.

One afternoon, just as the class was closing, I looked up, and in the doorway of the Church stood two most repelling figures. Their hair had grown to the shoulders and was rolled into thin streaks with an ample quantity of white goat’s fat; they wore a mere fragment of clothing, and held in their hands a bow and sheaf of arrows. My lesson came to a dead standstill, and I asked the women who the two men were. “They eat each other,” was the reassuring response. I dismissed the class right away and made off, but found the two cannibals standing outside. Very bravely I went up and saluted them, but they only stared and grunted, then when I turned to hurry back to camp they came too! In spite of being told that they only eat their own people, I did not like to run any risk, so enticed a number of women to come with me all the way to our tent by saying I had some pictures just out from England to show them.

As we stood there in Mboga among some of the most primitive of the human races it was difficult to realize that they formed part of that greatest existing empire of the world. Let us hope the time will soon come when these people will be brought within the circle of its moral and intellectual influence as well as the circle of its civil rule. One can scarcely imagine that there ever existed a more unenlightened age in the history of man than the present twentieth century among these distant subjects of Great Britain. From the brow of the Mission hill at Mboga no fewer than seven distinct practically untamed tribes, each with its own peculiar customs and dialect, lie within the range of eyesight. During the four weeks spent in these parts we had an opportunity of coming in direct contact with some people from each of these tribes, and as we learned something of their habits and modes of existence we realised in a deeper sense than ever before the significance of the words, “And darkness was upon the face of the deep.”

After one month’s life under canvas, nomadic life loses its charm, especially when the rains are a little too generous. The last three weeks of our stay in Mboga proved somewhat distressful on this account, for the storms beat down upon our skeleton shed and poured in through the tent almost daily. The wide trenches dug round our quarters were quite ineffectual in carrying off the water which came sweeping in upon us like a flood. Frequently we were obliged to sit on our chairs or boxes with our feet tucked under us while the water gaily took possession of the ground floor of the tent.

Then food was a difficulty, for no one would sell the few goats and chickens that they possessed. After the first fortnight they assured us that we had eaten up all the chickens in the place! (In spite of this we certainly lost weight.) Eggs were very scarce, and were sold at the same price as a chicken, for, they argued, an egg is a chicken, and the ones they brought for sale nearly proved their argument! All our boys got ill with malarial fever, and when they were at their worst a case of cholera was brought in to me for treatment. This seemed to be an unknown complaint in these parts, and the people had no idea of its infectious character. Already three deaths had occurred, and two households were stricken down with it through visiting the sick house. We immediately ordered all the infected huts to be quarantined and the strictest attention given to the burning of all contaminated matter. Fortunately the disease was thus checked from spreading, but not until four had succumbed to it.

Our last Sunday spent there was a memorable occasion, for thirty-five men and women were admitted into the fold of Christ through the confession of their faith in Baptism, and sixty-two from this little “lighthouse” station united with us in Holy Communion. After the evening service two young men came forward and offered themselves to be trained as teachers to the villages beyond. So although darkness yet covers the land of Mboga it might be said “And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”