as the Waganda do. I thought, indeed, they were Wa-
ganda doing this to welcome us; but a glance at Kasoro’s
glassy eyes told me such was not the case, but, on the
contrary, their language and gestures were threats, defying
us to land.
The bank of the river, as we advanced, then rose higher,
and was crowned with huts and plantations, before which
stood groups and lines of men, all fully armed. Further,
at this juncture, the canoe we had chased turned broadside
on us, and joined in the threatening demonstrations
of the people on shore. I could not believe them
to be serious—thought they had mistaken us—and stood
up in the boat to show myself, hat in hand. I said I was
an Englishman going to Kamrasi’s, and did all I could,
but without creating the slightest impression. They had
heard a drum beat, they said, and that was a signal of
war, so war it should b e ; and Kamrasi’s drums rattled
up both sides the river, preparing everybody to arm.
This was serious. Further, a second canoe full of armed
men issued out from the rushes behind us, as if with a
view to cut off our retreat, and the one in front advanced
upon us, hemming us in. To retreat together seemed our
only chance, but it was getting dark, and my boats were
badly manned. I gave the order to close together and
retire, offering ammunition • as an incentive, and all came
to me but one boat, which seemed so paralysed with fright,
it kept spinning round and round like a crippled duck.
The Wanyoro, as they saw us retreating, were now
heard to say, “ They are women, they are running, let
us at them; whilst I kept roaring to my men, “ Keep
together come for powder;” and myself loaded with
small shot, which even made Kasoro laugh and inquire if
it was intended for the Wanyoro. “ Yes, to shoot them
like guinea-fowl;” and he laughed again. But confound
my men ! they would not keep together, and retreat with
me. One of those served with ammunition went as hard
as he could go up stream to be out of harm’s way, and
another preferred hugging the dark shade of the rushes
to keeping the clear open, which I desired for the benefit
of our guns. I t was now getting painfully dark, and the
Wanyoro were stealing on us, as we could hear, though
nothing could be seen. Presently the shade-seeking boat
was attacked, spears were thrown, fortunately into the river
instead of into our men, and grappling-hooks were used
to link the boats together. My men cried, “ Help, Bana!
they are killing us;” whilst I roared to my crew, “ Go in,
go in, and the victory will be ours;” but not a soul
would—-they were spell-bound to the place; we might
have been cut up in detail, it was all the same to those
cowardly Waganda, whose only action consisted in ciying,
| Nfyawo ! n’yawo !”—mother, mother, help u s !
Three shots from the hooked boat now finished the
action. The Wanyoro had caught a Tartar. Two of
their men fell—one killed, one wounded. They were
heard saying their opponents were not Waganda, it were
better to leave them alone; and retreated, leaving us,
totally uninjured, a clear passage up the river. But where
was Bombay all this while ? He did not return till after
us, and then, in considerable excitement, he told his tale.
He reached N’yamyonjo’s village before noon, asked for
the officer, but was desired to wait in a hut until the chief
should arrive, as he had gone out on business; the villagers
inquired, however, why we had robbed the Wanyoro
yesterday, for they had laid a complaint against us.
Bombay replied it was no fault of Bana’s, he did everything
he could to prevent it, and returned all that the
boatmen took.
These men then departed, and did not return until
evening, when they asked Bombay, impudently, why he
was sitting there, as he had received no invitation to
spend the night; and unless he walked off soon they
would set fire to his hut. Bombay, without the smallest