Next day we coasted along land familiar to
me from my journey with Livingstone to Unya-
nyembe, and at 7 P.M. encamped at Urimba,
about a mile south-west of the river Luwajeri,
or Luwegeri.
Having been so successful in January 1872, I
sallied out the next day over ground which I
looked upon with reverence. The exact place
covered by our little tent, only 6 feet square
of land, was hallowed by associations of an
intercourse which will never, never be repeated,
I recognized the tree above which we hoisted
our mighty crimson and white banner to attract
the lagging land caravan, the plain where I had
dropped the zebra, the exact spot where I shot
a fine fat goose for breakfast, the aspiring peak
of Kivanga, the weird-looking mountains of
Tongwe. I knew my road here, and dwelt upon
all its features, until the old life seemed renewed,
and all things seemed as before.
But I resumed my search. In an hour I am
two miles from camp, and in view of a herd of
zebra. Billali becomes feverish lest I should miss
the game, and,, like an honest, faithful servant
taking enormous interest in his master’s success,
lies down to hug the ground in piteous stillness.
I advance a few paces cautiously behind a scraggy
acacia, and in a few seconds two of the noble
creatures'are dead, and the others are sweeping
round a clump of hills, whimpering for their
lost companions. As we have now enough
meat to last us several days, I give them their
liberty.
The day is devoted to cutting the meat into
long strips and drying it over wooden grates,
while each of the forty men composing the lake
exploring band seems profoundly impressed
with the necessity of forestalling future demands
on his digestive organs by consuming injudicious
quantities there and then.
In the midst of this most innocent recreation
there stepped forth to our view some sinister
objects—Ruga-Ruga ! As undesirable as wolves
in a stern Siberian winter to an unarmed party
in a solitary sledge are the Ruga-Ruga to peaceful
travellers in an African forest or wilderness.
Whatever the accident that brought them, their
very presence suggested the possibility and probability
o f a bloody struggle. They are bandits,
wretches devoted to plunder and murder, men
whose hands are at all times ready to be imbrued
in blood.
They are representatives Of that tribe which
has desolated and depopulated beautiful Kawendi
from the Malagarazi river down to the Rungwa.
All alike—whether Arabs, Wajiji, Wangwana,
Wanyamwezi, or the aborigines o f the land—
owe them an unpaid debt of vengeance for the
blood they have shed. It was not our special
task, however, to undertake the repayment,