Our second day was a grievous one, for the land grew very much more dry as we entered a great plain, and there was no water anywhere. It seemed sure that in a country so moist and lavish there would be ample springs and brooks for us, but there was not a drop, and the sun’s heat did punish us cruelly, drawing the moisture up out of our bodies and making us grow dizzy.
Gonçalo Fernandes, that was a Portugal who had been shipwrecked on the other coast of Africa some time before, now told us a pretty story, saying, “I was cast upon a desert island, and in all this island we could not find any fresh water in the world, insomuch that we were driven to drink our own urine.”
“And do you suggest that of us now?” asked my Gypsy friend Cristovão, making a sour face like unto an old prune that has been left in the sun a dozen year.
Gonçalo Fernandes replied, “You see me here before you not dead of thirst, and there is your answer.”
“It is a very hard extreme, though,” said Duarte Lagosta.
“That other time,” said Gonçalo Fernandes, “we saved the urine in sherds of certain jars, which we had out of our pinnace, and set it all night to cool therein, to drink it the next morning. And I tell you by God’s Mother that this sustained us. The urine we voided became exceeding red, I think because it was the same water constantly passing in and out of our bodies. But we did not die. And I tell you another thing, that when we found a way to get over to the mainland, we came upon a little river of very sweet and pleasant water, and my companion Antonio overdrank himself, being pinched before with extreme thirst, and within half an hour he died in my presence. So we must remember to be sparing when water comes to us again.”
Well, and we drank no urine that day, but we suffered mightily of thirst. I think had we had any drinking-vessels with us in which to retain the stuff, we would have overcome our niceness on that score. But we did not. We pressed onward, thinking to find ollicondi trees and suck the moistness therefrom, but these trees were not native on this plain. And after a day of such travel we were dizzied and unhealthful, all but one or two of the Gypsies, who seemed of such strength that they needed neither food nor water. That night we were not able to go, and were fain to dig and scrape up roots of little trees, and suck them to maintain life, as I had done that other time of my shipwreck.
The third day we met with one of those great serpents that do inhabit these parts, this being as long as five men stretched head to toe, and as thick through as the thigh of a very stout man. The monster was sleeping and I think had lately eaten, for its middle was a bulging place that was swollen as big as a pig or a goat. We talked of killing it for its meat, but the Portugals among us were loath to eat serpent-flesh, and one of the Gypsies swore that if we angered it, the creature would breathe flame upon us and destroy us; and this argument became so impassioned that in the end, hungry as we were, we let the serpent be, and walked far around it, and continued on our way. Which led to further dispute, some saying they would rather eat serpent than starve, and others preferring starvation: and we did consume much effort in noisy parley of this kind.
But later that day we encountered an old Negro who was traveling to the town where Mani Kabech has his capital. It gave us great surprise to see any man in this forlorn place. This man was wizened and ancient, but strong, and when he saw us he at once began to run. Two of our Gypsies, being most fleet of foot, gave chase and brought him to the ground, but he struggled so keenly fierce with them that it was an amazement, he being white-haired and his skin withered by age, hanging in dry folds. When he was subdued we took from him his waist-cloth of sturdy palm fiber and bound his hands behind him, and I spoke with him, telling him in Kikongo words I had learned from Matamba that we meant no harm, if he would help us.
He looked at me most gloomily, as though I would sell him tomorrow into slavery.
“Nay,” I said, “we are no slavers, and we love the Portugal government no more than you.”
Mamputo is what I said for “Portugal,” that being the native word for that nation, and I did pantomime my disdain by saying the word and spitting, and the like. The Portugals among us were displeased by this, but I made them hold their tongues.
With great patience I explained to the old man that we were fleeing our enemies, the Mamputo folk, and hoped to take refuge in the land of Kongo, and needed him to lead us to the lake of Kasanza, which we knew to be in that direction and where we could refresh ourselves. He understood my meaning and pledged himself to do that for us. One of the Portugals asked me to tell him that if he worked any treachery he would die a terrible death, but I allowed the old man enough wisdom to comprehend that without my saying it to him.
This Lake Kasanza was well known to some of those with whom I journeyed. It is eight miles across, and issues into the River Mbengu. It doth abound with fish of sundry sorts, and on its shore lives the greatest store of wild beasts that is in any place of Angola. So there we thought we might provide for ourselves as we undertook the continuance of our march into the land of Kongo.
The old man did not betray us. Traveling all that day in this extreme hot country we came to the town called Kasanza, which is near to the lake. As we neared it we crossed a small river that runs out of the lake, which was the first water that we had seen in a very long while. But the old man cried out as we ran to drink from it, saying in his tongue that the river gave bad water; and, having faith in him, I warned my companions not to take any. This was difficult for them to forego, but when we came to the edge of the water it was easier, the river being so shallow it was near dry, and the water being black and foul, with a thick scum or crust over it, and flies so numerous they were like a curtain that buzzed.
So we went onward unslaked, and a little while after came to Kasanza town. Here we were only twelve leagues east of São Paulo de Loanda. It was but another two or three miles from the town to the lake, but some of our people did not have the strength to proceed any further owing to thirst. Therefore we released our old blackamoor and went into the town to seek aid.
This town was one of those subjugated by Don João de Mendoça in his military expedition through the valley of the Mbengu, and we feared there might be a Portugal garrison here. But there was none, only a population of Negroes, that greeted us very coolly, and when we asked for water they fled into their houses and would not come out, and gave us nothing to drink.
“Let us torch the place,” said that Portugal Simao who had wanted to slay the sentinel of the canoes, and who vaunted himself for bravery and resource, but to me was not much other than a common criminal.
“Aye,” said Gonçalo Fernandes, who had once survived by drinking urine. “If they defy us, let us burn them like rats in a stack of hay.”
“It is not the wisest way,” I replied. “We can frighten them in easier style.”
And I did array our party in a military fashion, and we aimed our muskets into the houses, and fired very sparingly but in a regular way, shooting into this house and that and that according to what must seem like a pattern of attack. This drove the people into the open, making gestures of surrender, and their lord the Mani Kasanza now came to us with fair speeches, inviting us to stay the night in his village, and saying we could have water.