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The work is a nineteenth‑century travelogue by Sir Richard Francis Burton, the famed explorer of East Africa. It opens with a dense, documentary preface that recounts the mis‑routing of Burton’s own papers, letters, meteorological notes and diary entries, through the Royal Asiatic Society, the Foreign Office and a London bookseller, before they finally return to his hands. From this bureaucratic tangle Burton launches into a broader justification for publishing his observations on Zanzibar, its city, island and coast, promising notes on commerce, tariffs and a 1811 coasting voyage, alongside his own meteorological data. The introductory chapter, titled “Preparations for Departure,” immediately situates the reader in Burton’s world of military service, failed expeditions, and the tangled politics of the British Empire that delayed his African venture.
Burton’s voice is that of a Victorian gentleman‑scholar, blending formal reportorial language with occasional literary allusion and a personal, sometimes self‑deprecating, narrative tone. The prose is richly detailed, peppered with classical quotations, footnotes and a steady stream of proper nouns that reflect the era’s obsession with exploration and imperial administration. Readers who relish historical geography, the gritty logistics of 19th‑century expeditions, and the layered perspective of a man who straddles soldier, diplomat and naturalist will find this volume rewarding. It appeals especially to those interested in the early scientific study of East Africa, the history of British exploration, and the intricate interplay of personal ambition and governmental bureaucracy that shaped the mapping of the continent.
The opening · free to read
It is not a little curious that, as my first report upon the subject of Zanzibar was diverted from its destination, so the ‘Letts’ containing my excursions to Sa’adani and to Kilwa also came to temporary grief. Annexed by a skipper on the West African coast, appropriated by his widow, and exposed at a London bookseller’s stall (labelled outside, ‘Burton Original MS. Diary in Africa’), it was accidentally left by the buyer, an English Artillery officer, in the hall of one of H. M.’s Ministers of State. Here being recognized, it was kindly and courteously returned to me. The meteorological observations made by me on the East African seaboard and at other places during the discovery of the Lakes were also, I would remark, mislaid for years, deep hidden in certain pigeon-holes at Whitehall Place. May these three accidents be typical of the fate of my East African Expedition, which, so long the victim of uncontrollable circumstance, appears now, after many weary years, likely to emerge from the shadow which overcast it, and to occupy the position which I ever desired to see it conquer.
The two old documents are published with the less compunction as Zanzibar, though increasing in importance and now the head-quarters of an Admiralty Court and of two Mission-Schools, with a printing-press and other civilized appliances, has not of late been worked out. The best authorities are still those who appeared about a quarter of a century ago, always excepting, however, the four magnificent volumes, Baron Carl Clare von der Decken’s Reisen in Ost-Afrika, in den Jahren 1859 bis 1861, which I first saw at Jerusalem: there too I had the pleasure of making acquaintance with Dr Otto Kersten, who accompanied the unfortunate traveller during the earlier portion of his peregrinations, and who has so ably and efficiently performed his part as editor. Had a certain publisher carried out his expressed intention of introducing a resumé of this fine work in English dress to the British public, I should have saved myself the trouble of writing these volumes: the Reisen, however, in the original form are hardly likely to become popular. Moreover, the long interval of a decade has borne fruit: it has given me time to work out the subject, and, better still, to write with calmness and temper upon a theme of the most temper-trying nature,—chap. xii. vol. II. will explain what is meant. Finally, I have something important to say upon the subject of the so-called Victoria Nyanza Lake.
I had proposed to enrich the Appendix with extracts from Arab and other mediæval authors, who have treated of Zanzibar, Island and Coast. Such an addition, however, would destroy all proportion between the book and its subject: I have therefore confined myself to notes on commerce and tariffs of prices in 1857 to 1859, to meteorological observations, and to Capt. Smee’s coasting voyage, which dates from January, 1811. The latter will supply an excellent birds-eye view of those parts of the Zanzibar mainland which were not visited by the East African Expedition.
RICHARD F. BURTON.
London, Oct. 15, 1871.
ZANZIBAR.
‘Of a territory within a fortnight’s sail of us, we scarcely know more than we do of much of Central Africa, infinitely less than we do of the shores of the Icy Sea.’—TRANS. BOMBAY GEOG. SOC., vol. xii.
‘Si fueris sapiens, sapientibus utere factis, Si ignarus mordax, utere dente tuo.’ FR. JOÃO DE SANT’ ANGELO.
‘We were now landed upon the Continent of Africa, the most desolate, desert, and inhospitable country in the world, even Greenland and Nova Zembla itself not excepted.’—DEFOE.
I could not have believed, before Experience taught me, how sad and solemn is the moment when a man sits down to think over and to write out the tale of what was before the last Decade began. How many thoughts and memories crowd upon the mind! How many ghosts and phantoms start up from the brain—the shreds of hopes destroyed and of aims made futile; of ends accomplished and of prizes won; the failures and the successes alike half forgotten! How many loves and friendships have waxed cold in the presence of new ties! How many graves have closed over their dead during those short ten years—that epitome of the past!
‘And when the lesson strikes the head, The weary heart grows cold.’
The result of a skirmish with the Somal of Berberah (April 19, 1855) was, in my case, a visit ‘on sick leave’ to England. Arrived there, I lost no time in recovering health, and in volunteering for active Crimean service. The campaign, however, was but too advanced; all ‘appointments’ at head-quarters had been filled up; and new comers, such as I was, could look only to the ‘Bashi Buzuks,’ or to the ‘Turkish Contingent.’
My choice was readily made. There was, indeed, no comparison between serving under Major-General W. F. Beatson, an experienced Light-Cavalry man who had seen rough work in the saddle from Spain to Eastern Hindustan; and under an individual, half-civilian, half-reformed Adjutant-General, whose specialty was, and ever had been, foolscap— literally and metaphorically.
In due time I found myself at the Dardanelles, Chief of Staff in that thoroughly well-abused corps, the Bashi Buzuks. It were ‘actum agere’ to inflict upon the reader a réchauffé of our troubles,—how the military world declared us to be a band of banditti, an irreclaimable savagery; how a man, who then called himself H. B. M.’s Consul—but who has long since incurred the just consequences of his misconduct—packed the press, because General Beatson had refused him a lucrative contract; how we awoke one fine morning to find ourselves in a famous state of siege and blockade, with Turkish muskets on the land side, and with British carronades on the water-front; and how finally we, far more sinned against than sinning, were reported by Mr Consul Calvert to Constantinople as being in a furor of mutiny, intent upon battle and murder and sudden death. These things, and many other too personal for this occasion, will fit better into an autobiography.
The way, however, in which I ‘came to grief’ (permit me the phrase) deserves present and instant record: it is an admirable comment upon the now universally accepted axiom, ‘surtout, pas de zèle,’ and upon the Citizen-king’s warning words, ‘Surtout, ne me faites pas des affaires.’
The Bashi Buzuks, some 3000 sabres, almost all well mounted and better armed, were pertinaciously kept pitched on a bare hill-side, far from the scene of action and close to the Dardanelles country town, that gay and lively Turkish Coventry, at the Hellespont-mouth. In an evil hour I proposed, if my General, who wanted nothing better, would allow me, to proceed in person to Constantinople and to volunteer officially for the relief of the doomed city, Kars.
Ah, Corydon, Corydon, quæ te dementia cepit?
And I did proceed to Stamb’ul; and I did volunteer; and a neat hit, indeed, was that same public-spirited proceeding!
It would be a lively imagination that could conceive the scene of storm which resulted from my brazen-faced procedure. The picture has its comic side when looked back upon through the mellowing medium of three long lustres. The hopeful eagerness of the volunteer; the ‘proper pride’ in one’s corps, that had come forward for an honourable action; the fluent proof that we could convoy rations enough for the gallant and deserted Ottoman garrison, diplomatically left for months to slow death by starvation; and—the blank and stunned surprise at the hurricane of wrath which burst from the high authority to whose ambassadorial ear the project was entrusted.
Reported home as a ‘brouillon’ and turbulent, I again turned lovingly towards Africa—Central and Intertropical—and on April 19, 1856, I resolved to renew my original design of reaching the unknown regions, and of striking the Nile-sources viâ the Eastern coast. For long ages, I knew, explorers had been working, literally, as well as figuratively, against the stream; and, as the ancients had succeeded by a flank march, so the same might be done by us moderns. My Ptolemy told me the tale in very plain and emphatic terms, and although his shore-line shows great inaccuracies, his traditions of the interior, derived from mariners of Tyre and from older writers, appeared far more reliable:—
‘He (scil. the Tyrian) says that a certain Diogenes, one of those sailing to India, ... having the Troglyditic region on the right, after 25 days reached the Lakes whence the Nilus flows, and of which the Promontory of the Rhapta is a little more to the south.’[2]
Amongst my scanty literary belongings on our march to the Tanganyika Lake was a paper (De Azaniâ Africæ littore Orientali, Commentatio Physiologica, Bonviæ, Formis Caroli Gengii, MDCCCLII.) kindly sent to me by the author, Mr George F. de Bunsen. It quoted that same passage which was a frequent solace to me during our 18 months’ wanderings, and I still preserve the pamphlet as a memory.
‘And there behold the lakes wherein the Nile is born, a truth the ancients never knew; see how he bathes, ’gendering the crocodile, th’ Abassian land, where man to Christ is true. behold, how lacking ramparts (novel style!) he fights heroic battle with the foe. see Meroe, island erst of ancient fame, Nobá amongst the peoples now its name.’[3] Lusiad, Canto x. 95.
This is happier and truer to antiquity than the doubts of José Basilio da Gama:—
‘—the sombre range Virginal, ne’er by foot of man profaned, Where rise Nile’s fountains, if such fountains be.’ O Uruguay, Canto v.
I consulted my excellent friend the late Dr Barth, of Timbuktu, about following the footsteps of pilot Diogenes the Fortunate. He replied in a kind and encouraging letter, hinting, however, that no prudent man would pledge himself to discover the Nile sources. The Royal Geographical Society benevolently listened once more to my desire of penetrating into the heart of the Dark Continent. An Expeditionary Committee was formed by Sir Roderick I. Murchison, the late Rear-admiral Beechey (then President of the Society), Colonel Sykes, Chairman of the Court of Directors of the Hon. East Indian Company, Mr Monckton Milnes (Lord Houghton), Mr Francis Galton, the South African traveller, and Mr John Arrowsmith. I did not hear, strange to say, till many years had passed, of the active part which Vice-admiral Sir George Back, the veteran explorer of the Arctic regions, had taken in urging the expedition, and in proposing me as its head. Had it been otherwise, this recognition of his kindness would not have come so tardily.
The Committee obtained from Lord Clarendon, then H. M.’s Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, the sum of £1000, and it was understood that the same amount would be advanced by the then ruling Court of Directors. Unfortunately it was found wanting. I received, however, on Sept. 13, 1856, formal permission, ‘in compliance with the request of the Royal Geographical Society, to be absent from duty as a regimental officer under the patronage of H. B. Majesty’s Government, to be despatched into Equatorial Africa, for a period not exceeding two years, calculated from the date of departure from Bombay, upon the pay and allowances of my rank.’ So wrote the Merchant-Sultans.
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