shade--where we can discuss this thing quietly? Does the white man mean
to fight? I know well he is stronger than we are. His men have guns, and
the Wahha have but bows and arrows, and spears; but Uhha is large, and
our villages are many. Let him look about him everywhere--all is Uhha,
and our country extends much further than he can see or walk in a day.
The King of Uhha is strong; yet he wishes friendship only with the white
man. Will the white man have war or peace?"

A deep murmur of assent followed this speech of Mionvu from his people,
and disapprobation, blended with a certain uneasiness; from my men. When
about replying, the words of General Sherman, which I heard him utter to
the chiefs of the Arapahoes and Cheyennes at North Platte, in 1867,
came to my mind; and something of their spirit I embodied in my reply to
Mionvu, Mutware of Kimenyi.

"Mionvu, the great Mutware, asks me if I have come for war. When did
Mionvu ever hear of white men warring against black men? Mionvu must
understand that the white men are different from the black. White men do
not leave their country to fight the black people, neither do they
come here to buy ivory or slaves. They come to make friends with black
people; they come to search for rivers; and lakes, and mountains; they
come to discover what countries, what peoples, what rivers, what lakes,
what forests, what plains, what mountains and hills are in your country;
to know the different animals that are in the land of the black people,
that, when they go back, they may tell the white kings, and men, and
children, what they have seen and heard in the land so far from them.
The white people are different from the Arabs and Wangwana; the white
people know everything, and are very strong. When they fight, the Arabs
and the Wangwana run away. We have great guns which thunder, and when
they shoot the earth trembles; we have guns which carry bullets further
than you can see: even with these little things" (pointing to my
revolvers) "I could kill ten men quicker than you could count. We are
stronger than the Wahha. Mionvu has spoken the truth, yet we do not wish
to fight. I could kill Mionvu now, yet I talk to him as to a friend. I
wish to be a friend to Mionvu, and to all black people. Will Mionvu say
what I can do for him?"

As these words were translated to him--imperfectly, I suppose, but
still, intelligibly--the face of the Wahha showed how well they
appreciated them. Once or twice I thought I detected something like
fear, but my assertions that I desired peace and friendship with them
soon obliterated all such feelings.

Mionvu replied:

"The white man tells me he is friendly. Why does he not come to our
village? Why does he stop on the road? The sun is hot. Mionvu will not
speak here any more. If the white man is a friend he will come to the
village."

"We must stop now. It is noon. You have broken our march. We will go and
camp in your village," I said, at the same time rising and pointing to
the men to take up their loads.

We were compelled to camp; there was no help for it; the messengers had
not returned from Kawanga. Having arrived in his village, Mionvu had
cast himself at full length under the scanty shade afforded by a few
trees within the boma. About 2 P.M. the messengers returned, saying it
was true the chief of Kawanga had taken ten cloths; not, however for the
King of Uhha, but for himself!

Mionvu, who evidently was keen-witted, and knew perfectly what he was
about, now roused himself, and began to make miniature faggots of thin
canes, ten in each faggot, and shortly he presented ten of these small
bundles, which together contained one hundred, to me, saying each stick
represented a cloth, and the amount of the "honga" required by the King
of Uhha was ONE HUNDRED CLOTHS!--nearly two bales!

Recovering from our astonishment, which was almost indescribable, we
offered TEN.

"Ten! to the King of Uhha! Impossible. You do not stir from Lukomo until
you pay us one hundred!" exclaimed Mionvu, in a significant manner.

I returned no answer, but went to my hut, which Mionvu had cleared for
my use, and Bombay, Asmani, Mabruki, and Chowpereh were invited--to come
to me for consultation. Upon my asking them if we could not fight our
way through Uhha, they became terror-stricken, and Bombay, in imploring
accents, asked me to think well what I was about to do, because it was
useless to enter on a war with the Wahha. "Uhha is all a plain country;
we cannot hide anywhere. Every village will rise all about us, and how
can forty-five men fight thousands of people? They would kill us all in
a few minutes, and how would you ever reach Ujiji if you died? Think of
it, my dear master, and do not throw your life away for a few rags of
cloth."

"Well, but, Bombay, this is robbery. Shall we submit to be robbed? Shall
we give this fellow everything he asks? He might as well ask me for all
the cloth, and all my guns, without letting him see that we can fight. I
can kill Mionvu and his principal men myself, and you can slay all those
howlers out there without much trouble. If Mionvu and his principal were
dead we should not be troubled much, and we could strike south to the
Mala-garazi, and go west to Ujiji."

 "No, no, dear master, don't think of it for a moment.  If we went
 neat the Malagarazi we should come across Lokanda-Mira."

 "Well, then, we will go north."

 "Up that way Uhha extends far; and beyond Uhha are the Watuta."

 "Well, then, say what we shall do.  We must do something; but we
 must not be robbed."

 "Pay Mionvu what he asks, and let us go away from here.  This is
 the last place we shall have to pay.  And in four days we shall be
 in Ujiji."

 "Did Mionvu tell you that this is the last time we would have to
 pay?"

 "He did, indeed."

 "What do you say, Asmani?  Shall we fight or pay?"  Asmani's
 face wore the usual smile, but he replied,

 "I am afraid we must pay.  This is positively the last time."

 "And you, Chowpereh?"

 "Pay, bana; it is better to get along quietly in this country.
 If we were strong enough they would pay us.  Ah, if we had only
 two hundred guns, how these Wahha would run!"

 "What do you say, Mabruki?"

 "Ah, master, dear master; it is very hard, and these people are
 great robbers.  I would like to chop their heads off, all; so I
 would.  But you had better pay.  This is the last time; and what
 are one hundred cloths to you?"

 "Well, then, Bombay and Asmani, go to Mionvu, and offer him twenty.
 If he will not take twenty, give him thirty.  If he refuses thirty,
 give him forty; then go up to eighty, slowly.  Make plenty of talk;
 not one doti more.  I swear to you I will shoot Mionvu if he demands
 more than eighty.  Go, and remember to be wise."

 I will cut the matter short.  At 9 P.M. sixty-four doti were
 handed over to Mionvu, for the King of Uhha; six doti for
 himself, and five doti for his sub; altogether seventy-five doti--
 a bale and a quarter!  No sooner had we paid than they began to
 fight amongst themselves over the booty, and I was in hopes that
 the factions would proceed to battle, that I might have good excuse
 for leaving them, and plunging south to the jungle that I believed
 existed there, by which means, under its friendly cover, we might
 strike west.  But no, it was only a verbose war, which portended
 nothing more than a noisy clamor.

 November 6th.--At dawn we were on the road, very silent and sad.
 Our stock of cloth was much diminished; we had nine bales left,
 sufficient to have taken us to the Atlantic Ocean--aided by the
 beads, which were yet untouched--if we practised economy.  If I
 met many more like Mionvu I had not enough to take me to Ujiji,
 and, though we were said to be so near, Livingstone seemed to me
 to be just as far as ever.

 We crossed the Pombwe, and then struck across a slowly-undulating
 plain rising gradually to mountains on our right, and on our left
 sinking towards the valley of the Malagarazi, which river was
 about twenty miles away.  Villages rose to our view everywhere.
 Food was cheap, milk was plentiful, and the butter good.

 After a four hours' march, we crossed the Kanengi River, and
 entered the boma of Kahirigi, inhabited by several Watusi and Wahha.
 Here, we were told, lived the King of Uhha's brother.  This
 announcement was anything but welcome, and I began to suspect I had
 fallen into another hornets' nest.  We had not rested two hours
 before two Wangwana entered my tent, who were slaves of Thani bin
 Abdullah, our dandified friend of Unyanyembe.  These men came, on
 the part of the king's brother, to claim the HONGA!  The king's
 brother, demanded thirty doti!  Half a bale!  Merciful Providence!
 What shall I do?

 We had been told by Mionvu that the honga of Uhha was settled--and
 now here is another demand from the King's brother!  It is the
 second time the lie has been told, and we have twice been deceived.
 We shall be deceived no more.

 These two men informed us there were five more chiefs, living but
 two hours from each other, who would exact tribute, or black-mail,
 like those we had seen.  Knowing this much, I felt a certain calm.
 It was far better to know the worst at once.  Five more chiefs with
 their demands would assuredly ruin us.  In view of which, what is
 to be done?  How am I to reach Livingstone, without being beggared?

 Dismissing the men, I called Bombay, and told him to assist Asmani
 in settling the honga--"as cheaply as possible."  I then lit my
 pipe, put on the cap of consideration, and began to think.  Within
 half an hour, I had made a plan, which was to be attempted to be
 put in execution that very night.

 I summoned the two slaves of Thani bin Abdullah, after the honga
 had been settled to everybody's satisfaction--though the profoundest
 casuistries and diplomatic arguments failed to reduce it lower than
 twenty-six doti--and began asking them about the possibility of
 evading the tribute-taking Wahha ahead.

 This rather astonished them at first, and they declared it to be
 impossible; but, finally, after being pressed, they replied, that
 one of their number should guide us at midnight, or a little after,
 into the jungle which grew on the frontiers of Uhha and Uvinza.  By
 keeping a direct west course through this jungle until we came to
 Ukaranga we might be enabled--we were told--to travel through Uhha
 without further trouble.  If I were willing to pay the guide
 twelve doti, and if I were able to impose silence on my people
 while passing through the sleeping village, the guide was positive
 I could reach Ujiji without paying another doti.  It is needless to
 add, that I accepted the proffered assistance at such a price with
 joy.

 But there was much to be done.  Provisions were to be purchased,
 sufficient to last four days, for the tramp through the jungle,
 and men were at once sent with cloth to purchase grain at any price.
 Fortune favoured us, for before 8 P.M. we had enough for six days.

 November 7th.--I did not go to sleep at all last night, but a
 little after midnight, as the moon was beginning to show itself,
 by gangs of four, the men stole quietly out of the village; and
 by 3 A.M. the entire Expedition was outside the boma, and not the
 slightest alarm had been made.  After a signal to the new guide,
 the Expedition began to move in a southern direction along the
 right bank of the Kanengi River.  After an hour's march in this
 direction, we struck west, across the grassy plain, and maintained
 it, despite the obstacles we encountered, which were sore enough to
 naked men.  The bright moon lighted our path: dark clouds now and
 then cast immense long shadows over the deserted and silent plains,
 and the moonbeans were almost obscured, and at such times our
 position seemed awful--

 Till the moon.
 Rising in clouded majesty, at length,
 Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,
 And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

 Bravely toiled the men, without murmur, though their legs were
 bleeding from the cruel grass.  "Ambrosial morn" at last appeared,
 with all its beautiful and lovely features.  Heaven was born anew
 to us, with comforting omens and cheery promise.  The men, though
 fatigued at the unusual travel, sped forward with quicker, pace as
 daylight broke, until, at 8 A.M., we sighted the swift Rusugi River,
 when a halt was ordered in a clump of jungle near it, for breakfast
 and rest.  Both banks of the river were alive with buffalo, eland,
 and antelope, but, though the sight was very tempting, we did not
 fire, because we dared not.  The report of a gun would have alarmed
 the whole country.  I preferred my coffee, and the contentment which
 my mind experienced at our success.

 An hour after we had rested, some natives, carrying salt from the
 Malagarazi, were seen coming up the right bank of the river.  When
 abreast of our hiding-place, they detected us, and dropping their
 salt-bags, they took to their heels at once, shouting out as they
 ran, to alarm some villages that appeared about four miles north of
 us.  The men were immediately ordered to take up their loads, and
 in a few minutes we had crossed the Rusugi, and were making direct
 for a bamboo jungle that appeared in our front.  On, on, we kept
 steadily until, at 1 P.M., we sighted the little lake of Musunya,
 as wearied as possible with our nine hours march.

 Lake Musunya is one of the many circular basins found in this part
 of Uhha.  There was quite a group of them.  The more correct term
 of these lakes would be immense pools.  In the Masika season, Lake
 Musunya must extend to three or four miles in length by two in breadth.
 It swarms with hippopotami, and its shores abound with noble game.

 We were very quiet, as may be imagined, in our bivouac; neither
 tent nor hut was raised, nor was fire kindled, so that, in case of
 pursuit, we could move off without delay.  I kept my Winchester
 rifle (the gift of my friend Mr. Morris, and a rare gift it was
 for such a crisis) with its magazine full, and two hundred
 cartridges in a bag slung over my shoulders.  Each soldier's gun
 was also ready and loaded, and we retired to sleep our fatigues
 off with a feeling of perfect security.

 November 8th.--Long before dawn appeared, we were on the march, and,
 as daylight broke, we emerged from the bamboo jungle, and struck
 across the naked plain of Uhha, once more passing several large
 pools by the way--far-embracing prospects of undulating country,
 with here and there a characteristic clump of trees relieving the
 general nudity of the whole.  Hour after hour we toiled on,
 across the rolling land waves, the sun shining with all its wonted
 African fervor, but with its heat slightly tempered by the
 welcome breezes, which came laden with the fragrance of young
 grass, and perfume of strange flowers of various hues, that flecked
 the otherwise pale-green sheet which extended so far around us.

 We arrived at the Rugufu River--not the Ukawendi Rugufu, but the
 northern stream of that name, a tributary of the Malagarazi.  It
 was a broad shallow stream, and sluggish, with an almost imperceptible
 flow south-west.  While we halted in the deep shade afforded by a
 dense clump of jungle, close to the right bank, resting awhile before
 continuing our journey.  I distinctly heard a sound as of distant
 thunder in the west.  Upon asking if it were thunder, I was told it
 was Kabogo.

 "Kabogo? what is that?"

 "It is a great mountain on the other side of the Tanganika, full
 of deep holes, into which the water rolls; and when there is wind
 on the Tanganika, there is a sound like mvuha (thunder).  Many
 boats have been lost there, and it is a custom with Arabs and
 natives to throw cloth--Merikani and Kaniki--and especially white
 (Merikani) beads, to appease the mulungu (god) of the lake.
 Those who throw beads generally get past without trouble,
 but those who do not throw beads into the lake get lost, and are
 drowned.  Oh, it is a dreadful place!"  This story was told me by
 the ever-smiling guide Asmani, and was corroborated by other
 former mariners of the lake whom I had with me.

 At the least, this place where we halted for dinner, on the banks
 of the Rugufu River, is eighteen and a half hours, or forty-six
 miles, from Ujiji; and, as Kabogo is said to be near Uguhha, it
 must be over sixty miles from Ujiji; therefore the sound of the
 thundering surf, which is said to roll into the caves of Kabogo,
 was heard by us at a distance of over one hundred miles away from
 them.

 Continuing our journey for three hours longer, through thin
 forests, over extensive beds of primitive rock, among fields of
 large boulders thickly strewn about, passing by numerous herds
 of buffalo, giraffe, and zebra, over a quaking quagmire which
 resembled peat, we arrived at the small stream of Sunuzzi, to a
 camping place only a mile removed from a large settlement of Wahha.
 But we were buried in the depths of a great forest--no road was in
 the vicinity, no noise was made, deep silence was preserved; nor
 were fires lit.  We might therefore rest tranquilly secure, certain
 that we should not be disturbed.  To-morrow morning the kirangozi
 has promised we shall be out of Uhha, and if we travel on to
 Niamtaga, in Ukaranga, the same day, the next day would see us
 in Ujiji.

 Patience, my soul!  A few hours more, then the end of all this
 will be known!  I shall be face to face with that "white man with
 the white hairs on his face, whoever he is!"

 November 9th.--Two hours before dawn we left our camp on the Sunuzzi
 River, and struck through the forest in a north-by-west direction,
 having muzzled our goats previously, lest, by their bleating, they
 might betray us.  This was a mistake which might have ended
 tragically, for just as the eastern sky began to assume a pale
 greyish tint, we emerged from the jungle on the high road.  The
 guide thought we had passed Uhha, and set up a shout which was
 echoed by every member of the caravan, and marched onward with
 new vigor and increased energy, when plump we came to the outskirts
 of a village, the inhabitants of which were beginning to stir.
 Silence was called for at once, and the Expedition halted
 immediately.  I walked forward to the front to advise with the guide.
 He did not know what to do.  There was no time to consider, so I
 ordered the goats to be slaughtered and left on the road, and the
 guide to push on boldly through the village.  The chickens also had
 their throats cut; after which the Expedition resumed the march
 quickly and silently, led by the guide, who had orders to plunge
 into the jungle south of the road.  I stayed until the last man
 had disappeared; then, after preparing my Winchester, brought up
 the rear, followed by my gunbearers with their stock of ammunition.
 As we were about disappearing beyond the last hut, a man darted out
 of his hut, and uttered an exclamation of alarm, and loud voices
 were heard as if in dispute.  But in a short time we were in the
 depths of the jungle, hurrying away from the road in a southern
 direction, and edging slightly westward.  Once I thought we were
 pursued, and I halted behind a tree to check our foes if they
 persisted in following us; but a few minutes proved to me that we
 were not pursued, After half-an-hour's march we again turned our
 faces westward.  It was broad daylight now, and our eyes were
 delighted with most picturesque and sequestered little valleys,
 where wild fruit-trees grew, and rare flowers blossomed, and
 tiny brooks tumbled over polished pebbles--where all was bright
 and beautiful--until, finally, wading through one pretty pure
 streamlet, whose soft murmurs we took for a gentle welcome, we
 passed the boundary of wicked Uhha, and had entered Ukaranga!--
 an event that was hailed with extravagant shouts of joy.

 Presently we found the smooth road, and we trod gaily with
 elastic steps, with limbs quickened for the march which we all
 knew to be drawing near its end.  What cared we now for the
 difficulties we had encountered--for the rough and cruel forests,
 for the thorny thickets and hurtful grass, for the jangle of all
 savagedom, of which we had been the joyless audience!  To-morrow!
 Ay, the great day draws nigh, and we may well laugh and sing while
 in this triumphant mood.  We have been sorely tried; we have been
 angry with each other when vexed by troubles, but we forget all
 these now, and there is no face but is radiant with the happiness
 we have all deserved.

 We made a short halt at noon, for rest and refreshment.  I was
 shown the hills from which the Tanganika could be seen, which
 bounded the valley of the Liuche on the east.  I could not contain
 myself at the sight of them.  Even with this short halt I was
 restless and unsatisfied.  We resumed the march again.  I spurred
 my men forward with the promise that to-morrow should see their reward.

 We were in sight of the villages of the Wakaranga; the people
 caught sight of us, and manifested considerable excitement.  I sent
 men ahead to reassure them, and they came forward to greet us.  This
 was so new and welcome to us, so different from the turbulent Wavinza
 and the black-mailers of Uhha, that we were melted.  But we had
 no time to loiter by the way to indulge our joy.  I was impelled onward
 by my almost uncontrollable feelings.  I wished to resolve my doubts
 and fears.  Was HE still there?  Had HE heard of my coming?  Would HE
 fly?

 How beautiful Ukaranga appears!  The green hills are crowned by
 clusters of straw-thatched cones.  The hills rise and fall; here
 denuded and cultivated, there in pasturage, here timbered, yonder
 swarming with huts.  The country has somewhat the aspect of Maryland.

 We cross the Mkuti, a glorious little river!  We ascend the opposite
 bank, and stride through the forest like men who have done a deed
 of which they may be proud.  We have already travelled nine hours,
 and the sun is sinking rapidly towards the west; yet, apparently,
 we are not fatigued.

 We reach the outskirts of Niamtaga, and we hear drums beat.  The
 people are flying into the woods; they desert their villages, for
 they take us to be Ruga-Ruga--the forest thieves of Mirambo, who,
 after conquering the Arabs of Unyanyembe, are coming to fight the
 Arabs of Ujiji.  Even the King flies from his village, and every
 man, woman, and child, terror-stricken, follows him.  We enter
 into it and quietly take possession.  Finally, the word is bruited
 about that we are Wangwana, from Unyanyembe.

 "Well, then, is Mirambo dead?" they ask.

 "No," we answer.

 "Well, how did you come to Ukaranga?"

 "By way of Ukonongo, Ukawendi, and Uhha."

 "Oh--hi-le!" Then they laugh heartily at their fright, and begin
 to make excuses.  The King is introduced to me, and he says he had
 only gone to the woods in order to attack us again--he meant to have
 come back and killed us all, if we had been Ruga-Ruga.  But then we
 know the poor King was terribly frightened, and would never have
 dared to return, had we been RugaRuga--not he.  We are not, however,
 in a mood to quarrel with him about an idiomatic phrase peculiar
 to him, but rather take him by the hand and shake it well, and say
 we are so very glad to see him.  And he shares in our pleasure,
 and immediately three of the fattest sheep, pots of beer, flour,
 and honey are brought to us as a gift, and I make him happier still
 with two of the finest cloths I have in my bales; and thus a
 friendly pact is entered into between us.

 While I write my Diary of this day's proceedings, I tell my
 servant to lay out my new flannel suit, to oil my boots, to
 chalk my helmet, and fold a new puggaree around it, that I may
 make as presentable an appearance as possible before the white
 man with the grey beard, and before the Arabs of Ujiji; for the
 clothes I have worn through jungle and forest are in tatters.
 Good-night; only let one day come again, and we shall see what
 we shall see.

 November 10th. Friday.--The 236th day from Bagamoyo on the Sea,
 and the 51st day from Unyanyembe.  General direction to Ujiji,
 west-by-south.  Time of march, six hours.

 It is a happy, glorious morning.  The air is fresh and cool.
 The sky lovingly smiles on the earth and her children.  The deep
 woods are crowned in bright vernal leafage; the water of the Mkuti,
 rushing under the emerald shade afforded by the bearded banks,
 seems to challenge us for the race to Ujiji, with its continuous
 brawl.

 We are all outside the village cane fence, every man of us looking
 as spruce, as neat, and happy as when we embarked on the dhows at
 Zanzibar, which seems to us to have been ages ago--we have witnessed
 and experienced so much.

 "Forward!"

 "Ay Wallah, ay Wallah, bana yango!" and the lighthearted braves
 stride away at a rate which must soon bring us within view of
 Ujiji.  We ascend a hill overgrown with bamboo, descend into a
 ravine through which dashes an impetuous little torrent, ascend
 another short hill, then, along a smooth footpath running across
 the slope of a long ridge, we push on as only eager, lighthearted
 men can do.

 In two hours I am warned to prepare for a view of the Tanganika,
 for, from the top of a steep mountain the kirangozi says I can see
 it.  I almost vent the feeling of my heart in cries.  But wait, we
 must behold it first.  And we press forward and up the hill
 breathlessly, lest the grand scene hasten away.  We are at last on
 the summit.  Ah! not yet can it be seen.  A little further on--just
 yonder, oh! there it is--a silvery gleam.  I merely catch sight of
 it between the trees, and--but here it is at last!  True--THE TANGANIKA!
 and there are the blue-black mountains of Ugoma and Ukaramba.  An
 immense broad sheet, a burnished bed of silver--lucid canopy of
 blue above--lofty mountains are its valances, palm forests form its
 fringes!  The Tanganika!--Hurrah! and the men respond to the
 exultant cry of the Anglo-Saxon with the lungs of Stentors, and the
 great forests and the hills seem to share in our triumph.

 "Was this the place where Burton and Speke stood, Bombay, when they
 saw the lake first?"

 "I don't remember, master; it was somewhere about here, I think."

 "Poor fellows!  The one was half-paralyzed, the other half-blind,"
 said Sir Roderick Murchison, when he described Burton and Spoke's
 arrival in view of the Tanganika.

 And I?  Well, I am so happy that, were I quite paralyzed and
 blinded, I think that at this supreme moment I could take up my
 bed and walk, and all blindness would cease at once.  Fortunately,
 however, I am quite well; I have not suffered a day's sickness
 since the day I left Unyanyembe.  How much would Shaw be willing
 to give to be in my place now?  Who is happiest--he revelling in
 the luxuries of Unyanyembe, or I, standing on the summit of this
 mountain, looking down with glad eyes and proud heart on the
 Tanganika?

 We are descending the western slope of the mountain, with the
 valley of the Liuche before us.  Something like an hour before
 noon we have gained the thick matete brake, which grows on both
 banks of the river; we wade through the clear stream, arrive on
 the other side, emerge out of the brake, and the gardens of the
 Wajiji are around us--a perfect marvel of vegetable wealth.
 Details escape my hasty and partial observation.  I am almost
 overpowered with my own emotions.  I notice the graceful palms,
 neat plots, green with vegetable plants, and small villages
 surrounded with frail fences of the matete-cane.

 We push on rapidly, lest the news of our coming might reach the
 people of Ujiji before we come in sight, and are ready for them.
 We halt at a little brook, then ascend the long slope of a naked
 ridge, the very last of the myriads we have crossed.  This alone
 prevents us from seeing the lake in all its vastness.  We arrive
 at the summit, travel across and arrive at its western rim, and--
 pause, reader--the port of Ujiji is below us, embowered in the
 palms, only five hundred yards from us!

 At this grand moment we do not think of the hundreds of miles we
 have marched, or of the hundreds of hills that we have ascended
 and descended, or of the many forests we have traversed, or of the
 jungles and thickets that annoyed us, or of the fervid salt plains
 that blistered our feet, or of the hot suns that scorched us, nor
 of the dangers and difficulties, now happily surmounted!

 At last the sublime hour has arrived;--our dreams, our hopes, and
 anticipations are now about to be realised!  Our hearts and our
 feelings are with our eyes, as we peer into the palms and try to
 make out in which hut or house lives the "white man with the grey
 beard" we heard about when we were at the Malagarazi.

 "Unfurl the flags, and load your guns!"

 "We will, master, we will, master!" respond the men eagerly.

 "One, two, three,--fire!"

 A volley from nearly fifty guns roars like a salute from a
 battery of artillery: we shall note its effect presently on
 the peaceful-looking village below.

 "Now, kirangozi, hold the white man's flag up high, and let the
 Zanzibar flag bring up the rear.  And you men keep close together,
 and keep firing until we halt in the market-place, or before the
 white man's house.  You have said to me often that you could smell
 the fish of the Tanganika--I can smell the fish of the Tanganika
 now.  There are fish, and beer, and a long rest waiting for you.
 MARCH!"

 Before we had gone a hundred yards our repeated volleys had the
 effect desired.  We had awakened Ujiji to the knowledge that a
 caravan was coming, and the people were witnessed rushing up in
 hundreds to meet us.  The mere sight of the flags informed every
 one immediately that we were a caravan, but the American flag
 borne aloft by gigantic Asmani, whose face was one vast smile on
 this day, rather staggered them at first.  However, many of the
 people who now approached us, remembered the flag.  They had seen
 it float above the American Consulate, and from the mast-head of
 many a ship in the harbor of Zanzibar, and they were soon heard
 welcoming the beautiful flag with cries of "Bindera Kisungu!"--a
 white man's flag!  "Bindera Merikani!"--the American flag!

 Then we were surrounded by them: by Wajiji, Wanyamwezi, Wangwana,
 Warundi, Waguhha, Wamanyuema, and Arabs, and were almost
 deafened with the shouts of "Yambo, yambo, bana!  Yambo, bana!
 Yambo, bana!" To all and each of my men the welcome was given.

 We were now about three hundred yards from the village of Ujiji,
 and the crowds are dense about me.  Suddenly I hear a voice on
 my right say,

 "Good morning, sir!"

 Startled at hearing this greeting in the midst of such a crowd of
 black people, I turn sharply around in search of the man, and see
 him at my side, with the blackest of faces, but animated and
 joyous--a man dressed in a long white shirt, with a turban of
 American sheeting around his woolly head, and I ask:

 "Who the mischief are you?"

 "I am Susi, the servant of Dr. Livingstone," said be, smiling,
 and showing a gleaming row of teeth.

 "What!  Is Dr. Livingstone here?"

 "Yes, sir."

 "In this village?"

 "Yes, sir."

 "Are you sure?"

 "Sure, sure, sir.  Why, I leave him just now."

 "Good morning, sir," said another voice.

 "Hallo," said I, "is this another one?"

 "Yes, sir."

 "Well, what is your name?"

 "My name is Chumah, sir."

 "What! are you Chumah, the friend of Wekotani?"

 "Yes, sir."

 "And is the-Doctor well?"

 "Not very well, sir."

 "Where has he been so long?"

 "In Manyuema."

 "Now, you Susi, run, and tell the Doctor I am coming."

 "Yes, sir," and off he darted like a madman.

 But by this time we were within two hundred yards of the village,
 and the multitude was getting denser, and almost preventing our
 march.  Flags and streamers were out; Arabs and Wangwana were
 pushing their way through the natives in order to greet us, for
 according to their account, we belonged to them.  But the great
 wonder of all was, "How did you come from Unyanyembe?"

 Soon Susi came running back, and asked me my name; he had told
 the Doctor I was coming, but the Doctor was too surprised to believe
 him, and when the Doctor asked him my name, Susi was rather staggered.

 But, during Susi's absence, the news had been conveyed to the
 Doctor that it was surely a white man that was coming, whose guns
 were firing, and whose flag could be seen; and the great Arab
 magnates of Ujiji--Mohammed bin Sali, Sayd bin Majid, Abid bin
 Suliman, Mohammed bin Gharib, and others--had gathered together
 before the Doctor's house, and the Doctor had come out from his
 veranda to discuss the matter and await my arrival.

 In the meantime, the head of the Expedition had halted, and the
 kirangozi was out of the ranks, holding his flag aloft, and Selim
 said to me, "I see the Doctor, sir.  Oh, what an old man!  He has
 got a white beard."  And I--what would I not have given for a bit
 of friendly wilderness, where, unseen, I might vent my joy in some
 mad freak, such as idiotically biting my hand; turning a somersault,
 or slashing at trees, in order to allay those exciting feelings
 that were well-nigh uncontrollable.  My heart beats fast, but I must
 not let my face betray my emotions, lest it shall detract from the
 dignity of a white man appearing under such extraordinary circumstances.

 So I did that which I thought was most dignified.  I pushed back
 the crowds, and, passing from the rear, walked down a living avenue
 of people, until I came in front of the semicircle of Arabs, before
 which stood the "white man with the grey beard."

 As I advanced slowly towards him I noticed he was pale, that he
 looked wearied and wan, that he had grey whiskers and moustache,
 that he wore a bluish cloth cap with a faded gold band on a red
 ground round it, and that he had on a red-sleeved waistcoat, and a
 pair of grey tweed trousers.

 I would have run to him, only I was a coward in the presence of
 such a mob--would have embraced him, but that I did not know how
 he would receive me; so I did what moral cowardice and false pride
 suggested was the best thing--walked deliberately to him, took off
 my hat, and said:

 "DR. LIVINGSTONE, I PRESUME?"

 "Yes," said he, with a kind, cordial smile, lifting his cap slightly.

 I replaced my hat on my head, and he replaced his cap, and we
 both grasped hands.  I then said aloud:

 "I thank God, Doctor, I have been permitted to see you."

 He answered, "I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you."

 I turned to the Arabs, took off my hat to them in response to the
 saluting chorus of "Yambos" I received, and the Doctor introduced
 them to me by name.  Then, oblivious of the crowds, oblivious of
 the men who shared with me my dangers, we--Livingstone and I--
 turned our faces towards his house.  He pointed to the veranda,
 or rather, mud platform, under the broad overhanging eaves; he
 pointed to his own particular seat, which I saw his age and
 experience in Africa had suggested, namely, a straw mat, with a
 goatskin over it, and another skin nailed against the wall to
 protect his back from contact with the cold mud.  I protested
 against taking this seat, which so much more befitted him than I,
 but the Doctor would not yield: I must take it.

 We were seated--the Doctor and I--with our backs to the wall.
 The Arabs took seats on our left.  More than a thousand natives
 were in our front, filling the whole square densely, indulging
 their curiosity, and discussing the fact of two white men meeting
 at Ujiji--one just come from Manyuema, in the west, the other from
 Unyanyembe, in the east.

 Conversation began.  What about?  I declare I have forgotten.
 Oh! we mutually asked questions of one another, such as
 "How did you come here?" and "Where have you been all this long
 time?--the world has believed you to be dead." Yes, that was the
 way it began: but whatever the Doctor informed me, and that which
 I communicated to him, I cannot correctly report, for I found myself
 gazing at him, conning the wonderful figure and face of the man at
 whose side I now sat in Central Africa.  Every hair of his head
 and beard, every wrinkle of his face, the wanness of his features,
 and the slightly wearied look he wore, were all imparting
 intelligence to me--the knowledge I craved for so much ever since
 I heard the words, "Take what you want, but find Livingstone."
 What I saw was deeply interesting intelligence to me, and unvarnished
 truth.  I was listening and reading at the same time.  What did these
 dumb witnesses relate to me?

 Oh, reader, had you been at my side on this day in Ujiji, how
 eloquently could be told the nature of this man's work!  Had you
 been there but to see and hear!  His lips gave me the details; lips
 that never lie.  I cannot repeat what he said; I was too much
 engrossed to take my note-book out, and begin to stenograph his story.
 He had so much to say that he began at the end, seemingly oblivious
 of the fact that five or six years had to be accounted for.  But his
 account was oozing out; it was growing fast into grand proportions--
 into a most marvellous history of deeds.

 The Arabs rose up, with a delicacy I approved, as if they intuitively
 knew that we ought to be left to ourselves.  I sent Bombay with them
 to give them the news they also wanted so much to know about the
 affairs at Unyanyembe.  Sayd bin Majid was the father of the gallant
 young man whom I saw at Masangi, and who fought with me at Zimbizo,
 and who soon afterwards was killed by Mirambo's Ruga-Ruga in the
 forest of Wilyankuru; and, knowing that I had been there, he
 earnestly desired to hear the tale of the fight; but they had all
 friends at Unyanyembe, and it was but natural that they should be
 anxious to hear of what concerned them.

 After giving orders to Bombay and Asmani for the provisioning of
 the men of the Expedition, I called "Kaif-Halek," or "How-do-ye-do,"
 and introduced him to Dr. Livingstone as one of the soldiers in
 charge of certain goods left at Unyanyembe, whom I had compelled
 to accompany me to Ujiji, that he might deliver in person to his
 master the letter-bag with which he had been entrusted.  This was
 that famous letter-bag marked "Nov. 1st, 1870," which was now
 delivered into the Doctor's hands 365 days after it left Zanzibar!
 How long, I wonder, had it remained at Unyanyembe had I not been
 despatched into Central Africa in search of the great traveller?

 The Doctor kept the letter-bag on his knee, then, presently, opened
 it, looked at the letters contained there, and read one or two of
 his children's letters, his face in the meanwhile lighting up.

 He asked me to tell him the news.  "No, Doctor," said I, "read your
 letters first, which I am sure you must be impatient to read."

 "Ah," said he, "I have waited years for letters, and I have been
 taught patience.  I can surely afford to wait a few hours longer.
 No, tell me the general news: how is the world getting along?

 "You probably know much already.  Do you know that the Suez Canal
 is a fact--is opened, and a regular trade carried on between Europe
 and India through it?"

 "I did not hear about the opening of it.  Well, that is grand news!
 What else?"

 Shortly I found myself enacting the part of an annual periodical
 to him.  There was no need of exaggeration of any penny-a-line
 news, or of any sensationalism.  The world had witnessed and
 experienced much the last few years.  The Pacific Railroad had been
 completed (1869); Grant had been elected President of the United States;
 Egypt had been flooded with savans: the Cretan rebellion had
 terminated (1866-1868); a Spanish revolution had driven Isabella
 from the throne of Spain, and a Regent had been appointed: General
 Prim was assassinated; a Castelar had electrified Europe with his
 advanced ideas upon the liberty of worship; Prussia had humbled Denmark,
 and annexed Schleswig-Holstein <1864>, and her armies were now around
 Paris; the "Man of Destiny" was a prisoner at Wilhelmshohe;
 the Queen of Fashion and the Empress of the French was a fugitive;
 and the child born in the purple had lost for ever the Imperial
 crown intended for his head; the Napoleon dynasty was extinguished
 by the Prussians, Bismarck and Von Moltke; and France, the proud
 empire, was humbled to the dust.

 What could a man have exaggerated of these facts?  What a budget
 of news it was to one who had emerged from the depths of the
 primeval forests of Manyuema!  The reflection of the dazzling
 light of civilisation was cast on him while Livingstone was thus
 listening in wonder to one of the most exciting pages of history
 ever repeated.  How the puny deeds of barbarism paled before
 these!  Who could tell under what new phases of uneasy life Europe
 was labouring even then, while we, two of her lonely children,
 rehearsed the tale of her late woes and glories?  More worthily,
 perhaps, had the tongue of a lyric Demodocus recounted them; but,
 in the absence of the poet, the newspaper correspondent performed
 his part as well and truthfully as he could.

 Not long after the Arabs had departed, a dishful of hot hashed-meat
 cakes was sent to us by Sayd bin Majid, and a curried chicken was
 received from Mohammed bin Sali, and Moeni Kheri sent a dishful of
 stewed goat-meat and rice; and thus presents of food came in
 succession, and as fast as they were brought we set to.  I had a
 healthy, stubborn digestion--the exercise I had taken had put it in
 prime order; but Livingstone--he had been complaining that he had
 no appetite, that his stomach refused everything but a cup of tea
 now and then--he ate also--ate like a vigorous, hungry man; and,
 as he vied with me in demolishing the pancakes, he kept repeating,
 "You have brought me new life.  You have brought me new life."

 "Oh, by George!" I said, "I have forgotten something.  Hasten,
 Selim, and bring that bottle; you know which and bring me the silver
 goblets.  I brought this bottle on purpose for this event, which
 I hoped would come to pass, though often it seemed useless to expect
 it."

 Selim knew where the bottle was, and he soon returned with it--a
 bottle of Sillery champagne; and, handing the Doctor a silver
 goblet brimful of the exhilarating wine, and pouring a small
 quantity into my own, I said,

 "Dr. Livingstone, to your very good health, sir."

 "And to yours!" he responded, smilingly.

 And the champagne I had treasured for this happy meeting was drunk
 with hearty good wishes to each other.

 But we kept on talking and talking, and prepared food was being
 brought to us all that afternoon; and we kept on eating each time
 it was brought, until I had eaten even to repletion, and the Doctor
 was obliged to confess that he had eaten enough.  Still, Halimah,
 the female cook of the Doctor's establishment, was in a state of
 the greatest excitement.  She had been protruding her head out of
 the cookhouse to make sure that there were really two white men
 sitting down in the veranda, when there used to be only one, who
 would not, because he could not, eat anything; and she had been
 considerably exercised in her mind about this fact.  She was
 afraid the Doctor did not properly appreciate her culinary
 abilities; but now she was amazed at the extraordinary quantity
 of food eaten, and she was in a state of delightful excitement.
 We could hear her tongue rolling off a tremendous volume of
 clatter to the wondering crowds who halted before the kitchen
 to hear the current of news with which she edified them.  Poor,
 faithful soul!  While we listened to the noise of her furious
 gossip, the Doctor related her faithful services, and the
 terrible anxiety she evinced when the guns first announced
 the  arrival of another white man in Ujiji; how she had been
 flying about in a state cf the utmost excitement, from the kitchen
 into his presence, and out again into the square, asking all sorts
 of questions; how she was in despair at the scantiness of the
 general larder and treasury of the strange household; how she
 was anxious to make up for their poverty by a grand appearance--
 to make up a sort of Barmecide feast to welcome the white man.
 "Why," said she, "is he not one of us?  Does he not bring plenty
 of cloth and beads?  Talk about the Arabs!  Who are they that
 they should be compared to white men?  Arabs, indeed!"

 The Doctor and I conversed upon many things, especially upon his
 own immediate troubles, and his disappointments, upon his arrival
 in Ujiji, when told that all his goods had been sold, and he was
 reduced to poverty.  He had but twenty cloths or so left of the
 stock he had deposited with the man called Sherif, the half-caste
 drunken tailor, who was sent by the Consul in charge of the goods.
 Besides which he had been suffering from an attack of dysentery,
 and his condition was most deplorable.  He was but little improved
 on this day, though he had eaten well, and already began to feel
 stronger and better.

 This day, like all others, though big with happiness to me, at last
 was fading away.  While sitting with our faces looking to the east,
 as Livingstone had been sitting for days preceding my arrival, we
 noted the dark shadows which crept up above the grove of palms
 beyond the village, and above the rampart of mountains which we had
 crossed that day, now looming through the fast approaching
 darkness; and we listened, with our hearts full of gratitude to
 the Great Giver of Good and Dispenser of all Happiness, to the
 sonorous thunder of the surf of the Tanganika, and to the chorus
 which the night insects sang.  Hours passed, and we were still
 sitting there with our minds busy upon the day's remarkable events,
 when I remembered that the traveller had not yet read his letters.

 "Doctor," I said, "you had better read your letters.  I will not
 keep you up any longer."

 "Yes," he answered, "it is getting late; and I will go and read
 my friends' letters.  Good-night, and God bless you."

 "Good-night, my dear Doctor; and let me hope that your news will
 be such as you desire."

 I have now related, by means of my Diary, "How I found Livingstone,"
 as recorded on the evening of that great day.  I have been averse
 to reduce it by process of excision and suppression, into a mere
 cold narrative, because, by so doing, I would be unable to record
 what feelings swayed each member of the Expedition as well as myself
 during the days preceding the discovery of the lost traveller, and
 more especially the day it was the good fortune of both Livingstone
 and myself to clasp each other's hands in the strong friendship
 which was born in that hour we thus strangely met.  The aged
 traveller, though cruelly belied, contrary to all previous expectation,
 received me as a friend; and the cordial warmth with which he accepted
 my greeting; the courtesy with which he tendered to me a shelter
 in his own house; the simple candour of his conversation; graced
 by unusual modesty of manner, and meekness of spirit, wrought in me
 such a violent reaction in his favor, that when the parting
 "good-night" was uttered, I felt a momentary vague fear lest the
 fulness of joy which I experienced that evening would be diminished
 by some envious fate, before the morrow's sun should rise above Ujiji.

CHAPTER XII. -- INTERCOURSE WITH LIVINGSTONE AT UJIJI--LIVINGSTONE'S OWN
STORY OF HIS JOURNEYS, HIS TROUBLES, AND DISAPPOINTMENTS.

 "If there is love between us, inconceivably delicious, and
 profitable will our intercourse be; if not, your time is lost,
 and you will only annoy me.  I shall seem to you stupid, and the
 reputation I have false.  All my good is magnetic, and I educate
 not by lessons, but by going about my business."--Emerson's
 'Representative Men'.

 I woke up early next morning with a sudden start.  The room was
 strange!  It was a house, and not my tent!  Ah, yes! I recollected
 I had discovered Livingstone, and I was in his house.  I listened,
 that the knowledge dawning on me might be confirmed by the sound
 of his voice.  I heard nothing but the sullen roar of the surf.

 I lay quietly in bed.  Bed!  Yes, it was a primitive four-poster,
 with the leaves of the palm-tree spread upon it instead of down,
 and horsehair and my bearskin spread over this serving me in place
 of linen.  I began to put myself under rigid mental cross-examination,
and to an analyzation of my position.

"What was I sent for?"

"To find Livingstone."

"Have you found him?"

"Yes, of course; am I not in his house? Whose compass is that hanging
on a peg there? Whose clothes, whose boots, are those? Who reads those
newspapers, those 'Saturday Reviews' and numbers of 'Punch' lying on the
floor?"

"Well, what are you going to do now?"

"I shall tell him this morning who sent me, and what brought me here.
I will then ask him to write a letter to Mr. Bennett, and to give
what news he can spare. I did not come here to rob him of his news.
Sufficient for me is it that I have found him. It is a complete success
so far. But it will be a greater one if he gives me letters for Mr.
Bennett, and an acknowledgment that he has seen me."

"Do you think he will do so?"

"Why not? I have come here to do him a service. He has no goods. I have.
He has no men with him. I have. If I do a friendly part by him, will he
not do a friendly part by me? What says the poet?--

              Nor hope to find
     A friend, but who has found a friend in thee.
     All like the purchase; few the price will pay
     And this makes friends such wonders here below.

I have paid the purchase, by coming so far to do him a service. But I
think, from what I have seen of him last night, that he is not such
a niggard and misanthrope as I was led to believe. He exhibited
considerable emotion, despite the monosyllabic greeting, when he shook
my hand. If he were a man to feel annoyance at any person coming after
him, he would not have received me as he did, nor would he ask me to
live with him, but he would have surlily refused to see me, and told
me to mind my own business. Neither does he mind my nationality; for
'here,' said he, 'Americans and Englishmen are the same people. We speak
the same language and have the same ideas.' Just so, Doctor; I agree
with you. Here at least, Americans and Englishmen shall be brothers,
and, whatever I can do for you, you may command me freely."

I dressed myself quietly, intending to take a stroll along the Tanganika
before the Doctor should rise; opened the door, which creaked horribly
on its hinges, and walked out to the veranda.

"Halloa, Doctor!--you up already? I hope you have slept well?"

"Good-morning, Mr. Stanley! I am glad to see you. I hope you rested
well. I sat up late reading my letters. You have brought me good and bad
news. But sit down." He made a place for me by his side. "Yes, many of
my friends are dead. My eldest son has met with a sad accident--that is,
my boy Tom; my second son, Oswell, is at college studying medicine, and
is doing well I am told. Agnes, my eldest daughter, has been enjoying
herself in a yacht, with 'Sir Paraffine' Young and his family. Sir
Roderick, also, is well, and expresses a hope that he will soon see me.
You have brought me quite a budget."

The man was not an apparition, then, and yesterday's scenes were not the
result of a dream! and I gazed on him intently, for thus I was assured
he had not run away, which was the great fear that constantly haunted me
as I was journeying to Ujiji.

"Now, Doctor," said I, "you are, probably, wondering why I came here?"

"It is true," said he; "I have been wondering. I thought you, at first,
an emissary of the French Government, in the place of Lieutenant Le
Saint, who died a few miles above Gondokoro. I heard you had boats,
plenty of men, and stores, and I really believed you were some French
officer, until I saw the American flag; and, to tell you the truth, I
was rather glad it was so, because I could not have talked to him in
French; and if he did not know English, we had been a pretty pair of
white men in Ujiji! I did not like to ask you yesterday, because I
thought it was none of my business."

"Well," said I, laughing, "for your sake I am glad that I am an American,
and not a Frenchman, and that we can understand each other perfectly
without an interpreter. I see that the Arabs are wondering that you, an
Englishman, and I, an American, understand each other. We must take care
not to tell them that the English and Americans have fought, and that
there are 'Alabama' claims left unsettled, and that we have such people
as Fenians in America, who hate you. But, seriously, Doctor--now don't
be frightened when I tell you that I have come after--YOU!"

"After me?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Well. You have heard of the 'New York Herald?'"

"Oh--who has not heard of that newspaper?"

"Without his father's knowledge or consent, Mr. James Gordon Bennett,
son of Mr. James Gordon Bennett, the proprietor of the 'Herald,' has
commissioned me to find you--to get whatever news of your discoveries
you like to give--and to assist you, if I can, with means."

"Young Mr. Bennett told you to come after me, to find me out, and help
me! It is no wonder, then, you praised Mr. Bennett so much last night."

"I know him--I am proud to say--to be just what I say he is. He is an
ardent, generous, and true man."

"Well, indeed! I am very much obliged to him; and it makes me feel proud
to think that you Americans think so much of me. You have just come in
the proper time; for I was beginning to think that I should have to beg
from the Arabs. Even they are in want of cloth, and there are but few
beads in Ujiji. That fellow Sherif has robbed me of all. I wish I could
embody my thanks to Mr. Bennett in suitable words; but if I fail to do
so, do not, I beg of you, believe me the less grateful."

"And now, Doctor, having disposed of this little affair, Ferajji shall
bring breakfast; if you have no objection."

"You have given me an appetite," he said.

"Halimah is my cook, but she never can tell the difference between tea
and coffee."

Ferajji, the cook, was ready as usual with excellent tea, and a dish of
smoking cakes; "dampers," as the Doctor called them. I never did care
much for this kind of a cake fried in a pan, but they were necessary
to the Doctor, who had nearly lost all his teeth from the hard fare of
Lunda. He had been compelled to subsist on green ears of Indian corn;
there was no meat in that district; and the effort to gnaw at the
corn ears had loosened all his teeth. I preferred the corn scones of
Virginia, which, to my mind, were the nearest approach to palatable
bread obtainable in Central Africa.

The Doctor said he had thought me a most luxurious and rich man, when he
saw my great bath-tub carried on the shoulders of one of my men; but he
thought me still more luxurious this morning, when my knives and forks,
and plates, and cups, saucers, silver spoons, and silver teapot were
brought forth shining and bright, spread on a rich Persian carpet, and
observed that I was well attended to by my yellow and ebon Mercuries.

This was the beginning of our life at Ujiji. I knew him not as a friend
before my arrival. He was only an object to me--a great item for a daily
newspaper, as much as other subjects in which the voracious news-loving
public delight in. I had gone over battlefields, witnessed revolutions,
civil wars, rebellions, emeutes and massacres; stood close to the
condemned murderer to record his last struggles and last sighs; but
never had I been called to record anything that moved me so much as this
man's woes and sufferings, his privations and disappointments, which now
were poured into my ear. Verily did I begin to perceive that "the Gods
above do with just eyes survey the affairs of men." I began to recognize
the hand of an overruling and kindly Providence.

The following are singular facts worthy for reflection. I was,
commissioned for the duty of discovering Livingstone sometime in
October, 1869. Mr. Bennett was ready with the money, and I was ready for
the journey. But, observe, reader, that I did not proceed directly upon
the search mission. I had many tasks to fulfil before proceeding with
it, and many thousand miles to travel over. Supposing that I had
gone direct to Zanzibar from Paris, seven or eight months afterwards,
perhaps, I should have found myself at Ujiji, but Livingstone would not
have been found there then; he was on the Lualaba; and I should have
had to follow him on his devious tracks through the primeval forests of
Manyuema, and up along the crooked course of the Lualaba for hundreds
of miles. The time taken by me in travelling up the Nile, back to
Jerusalem, then to Constantinople, Southern Russia, the Caucasus, and
Persia, was employed by Livingstone in fruitful discoveries west of the
Tanganika. Again, consider that I arrived at Unyanyembe in the latter
part of June, and that owing to a war I was delayed three months at
Unyanyembe, leading a fretful, peevish and impatient life. But while I
was thus fretting myself, and being delayed by a series of accidents,
Livingstone was being forced back to Ujiji in the same month. It took
him from June to October to march to Ujiji. Now, in September, I broke
loose from the thraldom which accident had imposed on me, and hurried
southward to Ukonongo, then westward to Kawendi, then northward to
Uvinza, then westward to Ujiji, only about three weeks after the
Doctor's arrival, to find him resting under the veranda of his house
with his face turned eastward, the direction from which I was coming.
Had I gone direct from Paris on the search I might have lost him; had I
been enabled to have gone direct to Ujiji from Unyanyembe I might have
lost him.

The days came and went peacefully and happily, under the palms of Ujiji.
My companion was improving in health and spirits. Life had been brought
back to him; his fading vitality was restored, his enthusiasm for his
work was growing up again into a height that was compelling him to
desire to be up and doing. But what could he do, with five men and
fifteen or twenty cloths?

"Have you seen the northern head of the Tangannka, Doctor?" I asked one
day.

"No; I did try to go there, but the Wajiji were doing their best to
fleece me, as they did both Burton and Speke, and I had not a great deal
of cloth. If I had gone to the head of the Tanganika, I could not have
gone, to Manyuema. The central line of drainage was the most important,
and that is the Lualaba. Before this line the question whether there
is a connection between the Tanganika and the Albert N'Yanza sinks into
insignificance. The great line of drainage is the river flowing from
latitude 11 degrees south, which I followed for over seven degrees
northward. The Chambezi, the name given to its most southern extremity,
drains a large tract of country south of the southernmost source of the
Tanganika; it must, therefore, be the most important. I have not the
least doubt, myself, but that this lake is the Upper Tanganika, and the
Albert N'Yanza of Baker is the Lower Tanganika, which are connected by a
river flowing from the upper to the lower. This is my belief, based upon
reports of the Arabs, and a test I made of the flow with water-plants.
But I really never gave it much thought."

"Well, if I were you, Doctor, before leaving Ujiji, I should explore it,
and resolve the doubts upon the subject; lest, after you leave here,
you should not return by this way. The Royal Geographical Society attach
much importance to this supposed connection, and declare you are the
only man who can settle it. If I can be of any service to you, you may
command me. Though I did not come to Africa as an explorer, I have
a good deal of curiosity upon the subject, and should be willing to
accompany you. I have with me about twenty men who understand rowing we
have plenty of guns, cloth, and beads; and if we can get a canoe from
the Arabs we can manage the thing easily."

"Oh, we can get a canoe from Sayd bin Majid. This man has been very kind
to me, and if ever there was an Arab gentleman, he is one."

"Then it is settled, is it, that we go?"

"I am ready, whenever you are."

"I am at your command. Don't you hear my men call you the 'Great
Master,' and me the 'Little Master?' It would never do for the 'Little
Master' to command."

By this time Livingstone was becoming known to me. I defy any one to be
in his society long without thoroughly fathoming him, for in him there
is no guile, and what is apparent on the surface is the thing that is in
him. I simply write down my own opinion of the man as I have seen him,
not as he represents himself; as I know him to be, not as I have heard
of him. I lived with him from the 10th November, 1871, to the 14th
March, 1872; witnessed his conduct in the camp, and on the march, and
my feelings for him are those of unqualified admiration. The camp is the
best place to discover a man's weaknesses, where, if he is flighty or
wrong-headed, he is sure to develop his hobbies and weak side. I think
it possible, however, that Livingstone, with an unsuitable companion,
might feel annoyance. I know I should do so very readily, if a man's
character was of that oblique nature that it was an impossibility to
travel in his company. I have seen men, in whose company I felt nothing
but a thraldom, which it was a duty to my own self-respect to cast off
as soon as possible; a feeling of utter incompatibility, with whose
nature mine could never assimilate. But Livingstone was a character that
I venerated, that called forth all my enthusiasm, that evoked nothing
but sincerest admiration.

Dr. Livingstone is about sixty years old, though after he was restored
to health he appeared more like a man who had not passed his fiftieth
year. His hair has a brownish colour yet, but is here and there streaked
with grey lines over the temples; his whiskers and moustache are
very grey. He shaves his chin daily. His eyes, which are hazel, are
remarkably bright; he has a sight keen as a hawk's. His teeth alone
indicate the weakness of age; the hard fare of Lunda has made havoc in
their lines. His form, which soon assumed a stoutish appearance, is a
little over the ordinary height with the slightest possible bow in the
shoulders. When walking he has a firm but heavy tread, like that of an
overworked or fatigued man. He is accustomed to wear a naval cap with
a semicircular peak, by which he has been identified throughout Africa.
His dress, when first I saw him, exhibited traces of patching and
repairing, but was scrupulously clean.

I was led to believe that Livingstone possessed a splenetic,
misanthropic temper; some have said that he is garrulous, that he is
demented; that he has utterly changed from the David Livingstone whom
people knew as the reverend missionary; that he takes no notes or
observations but such as those which no other person could read but
himself; and it was reported, before I proceeded to Central Africa, that
he was married to an African princess.

I respectfully beg to differ with all and each of the above statements.
I grant he is not an angel, but he approaches to that being as near
as the nature of a living man will allow. I never saw any spleen or
misanthropy in him--as for being garrulous, Dr. Livingstone is quite
the reverse: he is reserved, if anything; and to the man who says Dr.
Livingstone is changed, all I can say is, that he never could have known
him, for it is notorious that the Doctor has a fund of quiet humour,
which he exhibits at all times whenever he is among friends. I must
also beg leave to correct the gentleman who informed me that Livingstone
takes no notes or observations. The huge Letts's Diary which I carried
home to his daughter is full of notes, and there are no less than a
score of sheets within it filled with observations which he took during
the last trip he made to Manyuema alone; and in the middle of the book
there is sheet after sheet, column after column, carefully written, of
figures alone. A large letter which I received from him has been sent to
Sir Thomas MacLear, and this contains nothing but observations. During
the four months I was with him, I noticed him every evening making most
careful notes; and a large tin box that he has with him contains numbers
of field note-books, the contents of which I dare say will see the
light some time. His maps also evince great care and industry. As to the
report of his African marriage, it is unnecessary to say more than that
it is untrue, and it is utterly beneath a gentleman to hint at such a
thing in connection with the name of David Livingstone.

There is a good-natured abandon about Livingstone which was not lost
on me. Whenever he began to laugh, there was a contagion about it,
that compelled me to imitate him. It was such a laugh as Herr
Teufelsdrockh's--a laugh of the whole man from head to heel. If he
told a story, he related it in such a way as to convince one of its
truthfulness; his face was so lit up by the sly fun it contained, that I
was sure the story was worth relating, and worth listening to.

The wan features which had shocked me at first meeting, the heavy step
which told of age and hard travel, the grey beard and bowed shoulders,
belied the man. Underneath that well-worn exterior lay an endless fund
of high spirits and inexhaustible humour; that rugged frame of his
enclosed a young and most exuberant soul. Every day I heard innumerable
jokes and pleasant anecdotes; interesting hunting stories, in which his
friends Oswell, Webb, Vardon, and Gorden Cumming were almost always the
chief actors. I was not sure, at first, but this joviality, humour, and
abundant animal spirits were the result of a joyous hysteria; but as I
found they continued while I was with him, I am obliged to think them
natural.

Another thing which specially attracted my attention was his wonderfully
retentive memory. If we remember the many years he has spent in Africa,
deprived of books, we may well think it an uncommon memory that can
recite whole poems from Byron, Burns, Tennyson, Longfellow, Whittier,
and Lowell. The reason of this may be found, perhaps, in the fact, that
he has lived all his life almost, we may say, within himself. Zimmerman,
a great student of human nature, says on this subject "The unencumbered
mind recalls all that it has read, all that pleased the eye,
and delighted the ear; and reflecting on every idea which either
observation, or experience, or discourse has produced, gains new
information by every reflection. The intellect contemplates all the
former scenes of life; views by anticipation those that are yet to come;
and blends all ideas of past and future in the actual enjoyment of the
present moment." He has lived in a world which revolved inwardly, out
of which he seldom awoke except to attend to the immediate practical
necessities of himself and people; then relapsed again into the same
happy inner world, which he must have peopled with his own friends,
relations, acquaintances, familiar readings, ideas, and associations; so
that wherever he might be, or by whatsoever he was surrounded, his own
world always possessed more attractions to his cultured mind than were
yielded by external circumstances.

The study of Dr. Livingstone would not be complete if we did not take
the religious side of his character into consideration. His religion
is not of the theoretical kind, but it is a constant, earnest, sincere
practice. It is neither demonstrative nor loud, but manifests itself
in a quiet, practical way, and is always at work. It is not aggressive,
which sometimes is troublesome, if not impertinent. In him, religion
exhibits its loveliest features; it governs his conduct not only towards
his servants, but towards the natives, the bigoted Mohammedans, and all
who come in contact with him. Without it, Livingstone, with his ardent
temperament, his enthusiasm, his high spirit and courage, must have
become uncompanionable, and a hard master. Religion has tamed him, and
made him a Christian gentleman: the crude and wilful have been refined
and subdued; religion has made him the most companionable of men and
indulgent of masters--a man whose society is pleasurable.

In Livingstone I have seen many amiable traits. His gentleness never
forsakes him; his hopefulness never deserts him. No harassing anxieties,
distraction of mind, long separation from home and kindred, can make him
complain. He thinks "all will come out right at last;" he has such faith
in the goodness of Providence. The sport of adverse circumstances, the
plaything of the miserable beings sent to him from Zanzibar--he has been
baffled and worried, even almost to the grave, yet he will not desert
the charge imposed upon him by his friend, Sir Roderick Murchison. To
the stern dictates of duty, alone, has he sacrificed his home and ease,
the pleasures, refinements, and luxuries of civilized life. His is the
Spartan heroism, the inflexibility of the Roman, the enduring resolution
of the Anglo-Saxon--never to relinquish his work, though his heart
yearns for home; never to surrender his obligations until he can write
Finis to his work.

But you may take any point in Dr. Livingstone's character, and analyse
it carefully, and I would challenge any man to find a fault in it. He is
sensitive, I know; but so is any man of a high mind and generous nature.
He is sensitive on the point of being doubted or being criticised. An
extreme love of truth is one of his strongest characteristics, which
proves him to be a man of strictest principles, and conscientious
scruples; being such, he is naturally sensitive, and shrinks from any
attacks on the integrity of his observations, and the accuracy of his
reports. He is conscious of having laboured in the course of geography
and science with zeal and industry, to have been painstaking, and as
exact as circumstances would allow. Ordinary critics seldom take into
consideration circumstances, but, utterly regardless of the labor
expended in obtaining the least amount of geographical information in a
new land, environed by inconceivable dangers and difficulties, such
as Central Africa presents, they seem to take delight in rending to
tatters, and reducing to nil, the fruits of long years of labor, by
sharply-pointed shafts of ridicule and sneers.

Livingstone no doubt may be mistaken in some of his conclusions about
certain points in the geography of Central Africa, but he is not so
dogmatic and positive a man as to refuse conviction. He certainly
demands, when arguments in contra are used in opposition to him, higher
authority than abstract theory. His whole life is a testimony against
its unreliability, and his entire labor of years were in vain if theory
can be taken in evidence against personal observation and patient
investigation.

The reluctance he manifests to entertain suppositions, possibilities
regarding the nature, form, configuration of concrete immutable matter
like the earth, arises from the fact, that a man who commits himself
to theories about such an untheoretical subject as Central Africa
is deterred from bestirring himself to prove them by the test of
exploration. His opinion of such a man is, that he unfits himself
for his duty, that he is very likely to become a slave to theory--a
voluptuous fancy, which would master him.

It is his firm belief, that a man who rests his sole knowledge of the
geography of Africa on theory, deserves to be discredited. It has been
the fear of being discredited and criticised and so made to appear
before the world as a man who spent so many valuable years in Africa
for the sake of burdening the geographical mind with theory that has
detained him so long in Africa, doing his utmost to test the value of
the main theory which clung to him, and would cling to him until he
proved or disproved it.

This main theory is his belief that in the broad and mighty Lualaba he
has discovered the head waters of the Nile. His grounds for believing
this are of such nature and weight as to compel him to despise
the warning that years are advancing on him, and his former iron
constitution is failing. He believes his speculations on this point will
be verified; he believes he is strong enough to pursue his explorations
until he can return to his country, with the announcement that the
Lualaba is none other than the Nile.

On discovering that the insignificant stream called the Chambezi, which
rises between 10 degrees S. and 12 degrees S., flowed westerly, and then
northerly through several lakes, now under the names of the Chambezi,
then as the Luapula, and then as the Lualaba, and that it still
continued its flow towards the north for over 7 degrees, Livingstone
became firmly of the opinion that the river whose current he followed
was the Egyptian Nile. Failing at lat. 4 degrees S. to pursue his
explorations further without additional supplies, he determined to
return to Ujiji to obtain them.

And now, having obtained them, he intends to return to the point where
he left off work. He means to follow that great river until it is firmly
established what name shall eventually be given the noble water-way
whose course he has followed through so many sick toilings and
difficulties. To all entreaties to come home, to all the glowing
temptations which home and innumerable friends offer, he returns the
determined answer:--

"No; not until my work is ended."

I have often heard our servants discuss our respective merits. "Your
master," say my servants to Livingstone's, "is a good man--a very good
man; he does not beat you, for he has a kind heart; but ours--oh! he
is sharp--hot as fire"--"mkali sana, kana moto." From being hated and
thwarted in every possible way by the Arabs and half-castes upon
first arrival in Ujiji, he has, through his uniform kindness and mild,
pleasant temper, won all hearts. I observed that universal respect was
paid to him. Even the Mohammedans never passed his house without calling
to pay their compliments, and to say, "The blessing of God rest on you."
Each Sunday morning he gathers his little flock around him, and reads
prayers and a chapter from the Bible, in a natural, unaffected, and
sincere tone; and afterwards delivers a short address in the Kisawahili
language, about the subject read to them, which is listened to with
interest and attention.

There is another point in Livingstone's character about which readers of
his books, and students of his travels, would like to know, and that is
his ability to withstand the dreadful climate of Central Africa, and
the consistent energy with which he follows up his explorations. His
consistent energy is native to him and to his race. He is a very fine
example of the perseverance, doggedness, and tenacity which characterise
the Anglo-Saxon spirit; but his ability to withstand the climate is due
not only to the happy constitution with which he was born, but to the
strictly temperate life he has ever led. A drunkard and a man of vicious
habits could never have withstood the climate of Central Africa.

The second day after my arrival in Ujiji I asked the Doctor if he did
not feel a desire, sometimes, to visit his country, and take a little
rest after his six years' explorations; and the answer he gave me fully
reveals the man. Said he:

"I should like very much to go home and see my children once again, but
I cannot bring my heart to abandon the task I have undertaken, when it
is so nearly completed. It only requires six or seven months more to
trace the true source that I have discovered with Petherick's branch of
the White Nile, or with the Albert N'Yanza of Sir Samuel Baker, which is
the lake called by the natives 'Chowambe.' Why should I go home before
my task is ended, to have to come back again to do what I can very well
do now?"

"And why?" I asked, "did you come so far back without finishing the task
which you say you have got to do?"

"Simply because I was forced. My men would not budge a step forward.
They mutinied, and formed a secret resolution--if I still insisted upon
going on--to raise a disturbance in the country, and after they had
effected it to abandon me; in which case I should have been killed. It
was dangerous to go any further. I had explored six hundred miles of the
watershed, had traced all the principal streams which discharge their
waters into the central line of drainage, but when about starting to
explore the last hundred miles the hearts of my people failed them,
and they set about frustrating me in every possible way. Now, having
returned seven hundred miles to get a new supply of stores, and another
escort, I find myself destitute of even the means to live but for a few
weeks, and sick in mind and body."

Here I may pause to ask any brave man how he would have comported
himself in such a crisis. Many would have been in exceeding hurry to get
home to tell the news of the continued explorations and discoveries,
and to relieve the anxiety of the sorrowing family and friends awaiting
their return. Enough surely had been accomplished towards the solution
of the problem that had exercised the minds of his scientific associates
of the Royal Geograpical Society. It was no negative exploration, it was
hard, earnest labor of years, self-abnegation, enduring patience, and
exalted fortitude, such as ordinary men fail to exhibit.

Suppose Livingstone had hurried to the coast after he had discovered
Lake Bangweolo, to tell the news to the geographical world; then had
returned to discover Moero, and run away again; then went back once more
only to discover Kamolondo, and to race back again. This would not be in
accordance with Livingstone's character. He must not only discover the
Chambezi, Lake Bangweolo, Luapula River, Lake Moero, Lualaba River, and
Lake Kamolondo, but he must still tirelessly urge his steps forward to
put the final completion to the grand lacustrine river system. Had he
followed the example of ordinary explorers, he would have been running
backwards and forwards to tell the news, instead of exploring; and he
might have been able to write a volume upon the discovery of each lake,
and earn much money thereby. They are no few months' explorations that
form the contents of his books. His 'Missionary Travels' embraces a
period of sixteen years; his book on the Zambezi, five years; and if the
great traveller lives to come home, his third book, the grandest of all,
must contain the records of eight or nine years.

It is a principle with Livingstone to do well what he undertakes to do;
and in the consciousness that he is doing it, despite the yearning for
his home which is sometimes overpowering, he finds, to a certain extent,
contentment, if not happiness. To men differently constituted, a long
residence amongst the savages of Africa would be contemplated
with horror, yet Livingstone's mind can find pleasure and food for
philosophic studies. The wonders of primeval nature, the great forests
and sublime mountains, the perennial streams and sources of the great
lakes, the marvels of the earth, the splendors of the tropic sky by day
and by night--all terrestrial and celestial phenomena are manna to a
man of such self-abnegation and devoted philanthropic spirit. He can be
charmed with the primitive simplicity of Ethiop's dusky children, with
whom he has spent so many years of his life; he has a sturdy faith in
their capabilities; sees virtue in them where others see nothing but
savagery; and wherever he has gone among them, he has sought to elevate
a people that were apparently forgotten of God and Christian man.

One night I took out my note-book, and prepared to take down from his
own lips what he had to say about his travels; and unhesitatingly he
related his experiences, of which the following is a summary:

Dr. David Livingstone left the Island of Zanzibar in March, 1866. On
the 7th of the following month he departed from Mikindany Bay for the
interior, with an expedition consisting of twelve Sepoys from Bombay,
nine men from Johanna, of the Comoro Islands, seven liberated slaves,
and two Zambezi men, taking them as an experiment; six camels, three
buffaloes, two mules, and three donkeys. He had thus thirty men with
him, twelve of whom, viz., the Sepoys, were to act as guards for the
Expedition. They were mostly armed with the Enfield rifles presented
to the Doctor by the Bombay Government. The baggage of the expedition
consisted of ten bales of cloth and two bags of beads, which were to
serve as the currency by which they would be enabled to purchase the
necessaries of life in the countries the Doctor intended to visit.
Besides the cumbrous moneys, they carried several boxes of instruments,
such as chronometers, air thermometers, sextant, and artificial horizon,
boxes containing clothes, medicines, and personal necessaries. The
expedition travelled up the left bank of the Rovuma River, a route as
full of difficulties as any that could be chosen. For miles Livingstone
and his party had to cut their way with their axes through the dense and
almost impenetrable jungles which lined the river's banks. The road was
a mere footpath, leading in the most erratic fashion into and through
the dense vegetation, seeking the easiest outlet from it without any
regard to the course it ran. The pagazis were able to proceed easily
enough; but the camels, on account of their enormous height, could not
advance a step without the axes of the party clearing the way. These
tools of foresters were almost always required; but the advance of the
expedition was often retarded by the unwillingness of the Sepoys and
Johanna men to work.

Soon after the departure of the expedition from the coast, the
murmurings and complaints of these men began, and upon every occasion
and at every opportunity they evinced a decided hostility to an advance.
In order to prevent the progress of the Doctor, and in hopes that it
would compel him to return to the coast, these men so cruelly treated
the animals that before long there was not one left alive. But as this
scheme failed, they set about instigating the natives against the white
men, whom they accused most wantonly of strange practices. As this plan
was most likely to succeed, and as it was dangerous to have such men
with him, the Doctor arrived at the conclusion that it was best to
discharge them, and accordingly sent the Sepoys back to the coast; but
not without having first furnished them with the means of subsistence on
their journey to the coast. These men were such a disreputable set that
the natives spoke of them as the Doctor's slaves. One of their worst
sins was the custom of giving their guns and ammunition to carry to the
first woman or boy they met, whom they impressed for that purpose by
such threats or promises as they were totally unable to perform, and
unwarranted in making. An hour's marching was sufficient to fatigue
them, after which they lay down on the road to bewail their hard fate,
and concoct new schemes to frustrate their leader's purposes. Towards
night they generally made their appearance at the camping-ground with
the looks of half-dead men. Such men naturally made but a poor escort;
for, had the party been attacked by a wandering tribe of natives of
any strength, the Doctor could have made no defence, and no other
alternative would have been left to him but to surrender and be ruined.

The Doctor and his little party arrived on the 18th July, 1866, at a
village belonging to a chief of the Wahiyou, situate eight days' march
south of the Rovuma, and overlooking the watershed of the Lake Nyassa.
The territory lying between the Rovuma River and this Wahiyou village
was an uninhabited wilderness, during the transit of which Livingstone
and his expedition suffered considerably from hunger and desertion of
men.

Early in August, 1866, the Doctor came to the country of Mponda, a
chief who dwelt near the Lake Nyassa. On the road thither, two of the
liberated slaves deserted him. Here also, Wekotani, a protege of the
Doctor, insisted upon his discharge, alleging as an excuse--an excuse
which the Doctor subsequently found to be untrue--that he had found his
brother. He also stated that his family lived on the east side of the
Nyassa Lake. He further stated that Mponda's favourite wife was his
sister. Perceiving that Wekotani was unwilling to go with him further,
the Doctor took him to Mponda, who now saw and heard of him for the
first time, and, having furnished the ungrateful boy with enough cloth
and beads to keep him until his "big brother" should call for him, left
him with the chief, after first assuring himself that he would
receive honourable treatment from him. The Doctor also gave Wekotanti
writing-paper--as he could read and write, being accomplishments
acquired at Bombay, where he had been put to school--so that, should he
at any time feel disposed, he might write to his English friends, or to
himself. The Doctor further enjoined him not to join in any of the
slave raids usually made by his countrymen, the men of Nyassa, on
their neighbours. Upon finding that his application for a discharge was
successful, Wekotani endeavoured to induce Chumah, another protege
of the Doctor's, and a companion, or chum, of Wekotani, to leave the
Doctor's service and proceed with him, promising, as a bribe, a wife
and plenty of pombe from his "big brother." Chumah, upon referring the
matter to the Doctor, was advised not to go, as he (the Doctor) strongly
suspected that Wekotani wanted only to make him his slave. Chumah wisely
withdrew from his tempter. From Mponda's, the Doctor proceeded to the
heel of the Nyassa, to the village of a Babisa chief, who required
medicine for a skin disease. With his usual kindness, he stayed at this
chief's village to treat his malady.

While here, a half-caste Arab arrived from the western shore of the
lake, and reported that he had been plundered by a band of Mazitu, at
a place which the Doctor and Musa, chief of the Johanna men, were very
well aware was at least 150 miles north-north-west of where they were
then stopping. Musa, however, for his own reasons--which will appear
presently--eagerly listened to the Arab's tale, and gave full credence
to it. Having well digested its horrible details, he came to the Doctor
to give him the full benefit of what he had heard with such willing
ears. The traveller patiently listened to the narrative, which lost
nothing of its portentous significance through Musa's relation, and then
asked Musa if he believed it. "Yes," answered Musa, readily; "he tell
me true, true. I ask him good, and he tell me true, true." The Doctor,
however, said he did not believe it, for the Mazitu would not have been
satisfied with merely plundering a man, they would have murdered him;
but suggested, in order to allay the fears of his Moslem subordinate,
that they should both proceed to the chief with whom they were staying,
who, being a sensible man, would be able to advise them as to the
probability or improbability of the tale being correct. Together, they
proceeded to the Babisa chief, who, when he had heard the Arab's story,
unhesitatingly denounced the Arab as a liar, and his story without the
least foundation in fact; giving as a reason that, if the Mazitu had
been lately in that vicinity, he should have heard of it soon enough.

But Musa broke out with "No, no, Doctor; no, no, no; I no want to go to
Mazitu. I no want Mazitu to kill me. I want to see my father, my
mother, my child, in Johanna. I want no Mazitu." These are Musa's words
_ipsissima verba_.

To which the Doctor replied, "I don't want the Mazitu to kill me either;
but, as you are afraid of them, I promise to go straight west until we
get far past the beat of the Mazitu."

Musa was not satisfied, but kept moaning and sorrowing, saying, "If we
had two hundred guns with us I would go; but our small party of men they
will attack by night, and kill all."

The Doctor repeated his promise, "But I will not go near them; I will go
west."

As soon as he turned his face westward, Musa and the Johanna men ran
away in a body.

The Doctor says, in commenting upon Musa's conduct, that he felt
strongly tempted to shoot Musa and another ringleader, but was,
nevertheless, glad that he did not soil his hands with their vile blood.
A day or two afterwards, another of his men--Simon Price by name--came
to the Doctor with the same tale about the Mazitu, but, compelled by the
scant number of his people to repress all such tendencies to desertion
and faint-heartedness, the Doctor silenced him at once, and sternly
forbade him to utter the name of the Mazitu any more.

Had the natives not assisted him, he must have despaired of ever being
able to penetrate the wild and unexplored interior which he was now
about to tread. "Fortunately," as the Doctor says with unction, "I was
in a country now, after leaving the shores of Nyassa, which the foot
of the slave-trader has not trod; it was a new and virgin land, and of
course, as I have always found in such cases, the natives were really
good and hospitable, and for very small portions of cloth my baggage
was conveyed from village to village by them." In many other ways
the traveller, in his extremity, was kindly treated by the yet
unsophisticated and innocent natives.

On leaving this hospitable region in the early part of December, 1866,
the Doctor entered a country where the Mazitu had exercised their
customary marauding propensities. The land was swept clean of provisions
and cattle, and the people had emigrated to other countries, beyond the
bounds of those ferocious plunderers. Again the Expedition was besieged
by pinching hunger from which they suffered; they had recourse to the
wild fruits which some parts of the country furnished. At intervals
the condition of the hard-pressed band was made worse by the heartless
desertion of some of its members, who more than once departed with the
Doctor's personal kit, changes of clothes, linen, &c. With more or less
misfortunes constantly dogging his footsteps, he traversed in safety the
countries of the Babisa, Bobemba, Barungu, Ba-ulungu, and Lunda.

In the country of Lunda lives the famous Cazembe, who was first made
known to Europeans by Dr. Lacerda, the Portuguese traveller. Cazembe
is a most intelligent prince; he is a tall, stalwart man, who wears
a peculiar kind of dress, made of crimson print, in the form of
a prodigious kilt. In this state dress, King Cazembe received Dr.
Livingstone, surrounded by his chiefs and body-guards. A chief, who had
been deputed by the King and elders to discover all about the white man,
then stood up before the assembly, and in a loud voice gave the result
of the inquiry he had instituted. He had heard that the white man had
come to look for waters, for rivers, and seas; though he could not
understand what the white man could want with such things, he had no
doubt that the object was good. Then Cazembe asked what the Doctor
proposed doing, and where he thought of going. The Doctor replied that
he had thought of proceeding south, as he had heard of lakes and rivers
being in that direction. Cazembe asked, "What can you want to go there
for? The water is close here. There is plenty of large water in this
neighbourhood." Before breaking up the assembly, Cazembe gave orders to
let the white man go where he would through his country undisturbed and
unmolested. He was the first Englishman he had seen, he said, and he
liked him.

Shortly after his introduction to the King, the Queen entered the large
house, surrounded by a body-guard of Amazons with spears. She was a
fine, tall, handsome young woman, and evidently thought she was about
to make an impression upon the rustic white man, for she had clothed
herself after a most royal fashion, and was armed with a ponderous
spear. But her appearance--so different from what the Doctor had
imagined--caused him to laugh, which entirely spoiled the effect
intended; for the laugh of the Doctor was so contagious, that she
herself was the first to imitate it, and the Amazons, courtier-like,
followed suit. Much disconcerted by this, the Queen ran back, followed
by her obedient damsels--a retreat most undignified and unqueenlike,
compared with her majestic advent into the Doctor's presence. But
Livingstone will have much to say about his reception at this court, and
about this interesting King and Queen; and who can so well relate the
scenes he witnessed, and which belong exclusively to him, as he himself?

Soon after his arrival in the country of Lunda, or Londa, and before he
had entered the district ruled over by Cazembe, he had crossed a river
called the Chambezi, which was quite an important stream. The similarity
of the name with that large and noble river south, which will be for
ever connected with his name, misled Livingstone at that time, and he,
accordingly, did not pay to it the attention it deserved, believing that
the Chambezi was but the head-waters of the Zambezi, and consequently
had no bearing or connection with the sources of the river of Egypt, of
which he was in search. His fault was in relying too implicitly upon
the correctness of Portuguese information. This error it cost him many
months of tedious labour and travel to rectify.

From the beginning of 1867--the time of his arrival at Cazembe's--till
the middle of March, 1869--the time of his arrival at Ujiji--he was
mostly engaged in correcting the errors and misrepresentations of
the Portuguese travellers. The Portuguese, in speaking of the River
Chambezi, invariably spoke of it as "our own Zambezi,"--that is,
the Zambezi which flows through the Portuguese possessions of the
Mozambique. "In going to Cazembe from Nyassa," said they, "you will
cross our own Zambezi." Such positive and reiterated information--given
not only orally, but in their books and maps--was naturally confusing.
When the Doctor perceived that what he saw and what they described were
at variance, out of a sincere wish to be correct, and lest he might
have been mistaken himself, he started to retravel the ground he had
travelled before. Over and over again he traversed the several countries
watered by the several rivers of the complicated water system, like an
uneasy spirit. Over and over again he asked the same questions from
the different peoples he met, until he was obliged to desist, lest they
might say, "The man is mad; he has got water on the brain!"

But his travels and tedious labours in Lunda and the adjacent countries
have established beyond doubt--first, that the Chambezi is a totally
distinct river from the Zambezi of the Portuguese; and, secondly, that
the Chambezi, starting from about latitude 11 degrees south, is no
other than the most southerly feeder of the great Nile; thus giving that
famous river a length of over 2,000 miles of direct latitude; making it,
second to the Mississippi, the longest river in the world. The real and
true name of the Zambezi is Dombazi. When Lacerda and his Portuguese
successors, coming to Cazembe, crossed the Chambezi, and heard its
name, they very naturally set it down as "our own Zambezi," and, without
further inquiry, sketched it as running in that direction.

During his researches in that region, so pregnant in discoveries,
Livingstone came to a lake lying north-east of Cazembe, which the
natives call Liemba, from the country of that name which bordered it on
the east and south. In tracing the lake north, he found it to be none
other than the Tanganika, or the south-eastern extremity of it, which
looks, on the Doctor's map, very much like an outline of Italy. The
latitude of the southern end of this great body of water is about 8
degrees 42 minutes south, which thus gives it a length, from north to
south, of 360 geographical miles. From the southern extremity of the
Tanganika he crossed Marungu, and came in sight of Lake Moero. Tracing
this lake, which is about sixty miles in length, to its southern head,
he found a river, called the Luapula, entering it from that direction.
Following the Luapula south, he found it issue from the large lake
of Bangweolo, which is nearly as large in superficial area as the
Tanganika. In exploring for the waters which discharged themselves into
the lake, he found that by far the most important of these feeders was
the Chambezi; so that he had thus traced the Chambezi from its source to
Lake Bangweolo, and the issue from its northern head, under the name of
Luapula, and found it enter Lake Moero. Again he returned to Cazembe's,
well satisfied that the river running north through three degrees of
latitude could not be the river running south under the name of Zambezi,
though there might be a remarkable resemblance in their names.

At Cazembe's he found an old white-bearded half-caste named Mohammed bin
Sali, who was kept as a kind of prisoner at large by the King because
of certain suspicious circumstances attending his advent and stay in the
country. Through Livingstone's influence Mohammed bin Sali obtained
his release. On the road to Ujiji he had bitter cause to regret having
exerted himself in the half-caste's behalf. He turned out to be a most
ungrateful wretch, who poisoned the minds of the Doctor's few followers,
and ingratiated himself with them by selling the favours of his
concubines to them, by which he reduced them to a kind of bondage under
him. The Doctor was deserted by all but two, even faithful Susi and
Chumah deserted him for the service of Mohammed bin Sali. But they soon
repented, and returned to their allegiance. From the day he had the
vile old man in his company manifold and bitter misfortunes followed the
Doctor up to his arrival at Ujiji in March, 1869.

From the date of his arrival until the end of June, 1869, he remained
at Ujiji, whence he dated those letters which, though the outside
world still doubted his being alive, satisfied the minds of the Royal
Geographical people, and his intimate friends, that he still existed,
and that Musa'a tale was the false though ingenious fabrication of a
cowardly deserter. It was during this time that the thought occurred to
him of sailing around the Lake Tanganika, but the Arabs and natives were
so bent upon fleecing him that, had he undertaken it, the remainder
or his goods would not have enabled him to explore the central line of
drainage, the initial point of which he found far south of Cazembe's in
about latitude 11 degrees, in the river called Chambezi.

In the days when tired Captain Burton was resting in Ujiji, after his
march from the coast near Zanzibar, the land to which Livingstone, on
his departure from Ujiji, bent his steps was unknown to the Arabs save
by vague report. Messrs. Burton and Speke never heard of it, it seems.
Speke, who was the geographer of Burton's Expedition, heard of a place
called Urua, which he placed on his map, according to the general
direction indicated by the Arabs; but the most enterprising of the
Arabs, in their search after ivory, only touched the frontiers of Rua,
as, the natives and Livingstone call it; for Rua is an immense country,
with a length of six degrees of latitude, and as yet an undefined
breadth from east to west.

At the end of June, 1869, Livingstone quitted Ujiji and crossed over
to Uguhha, on the western shore, for his last and greatest series of
explorations; the result of which was the further discovery of a lake
of considerable magnitude connected with Moero by the large river called
the Lualaba, and which was a continuation of the chain of lakes he had
previously discovered.

From the port of Uguhha he set off, in company with a body of traders,
in an almost direct westerly course, for the country of Urua. Fifteen
days' march brought them to Bambarre, the first important ivory depot
in Manyema, or, as the natives pronounce it, Manyuema. For nearly
six months he was detained at Bambarre from ulcers in the feet, which
discharged bloody ichor as soon as he set them on the ground. When
recovered, he set off in a northerly direction, and after several days
came to a broad lacustrine river, called the Lualaba, flowing northward
and westward, and in some places southward, in a most confusing way.
The river was from one to three miles broad. By exceeding pertinacity he
contrived to follow its erratic course, until he saw the Lualaba enter
the narrow, long lake of Kamolondo, in about latitude 6 degrees 30
minutes. Retracing this to the south, he came to the point where he had
seen the Luapula enter Lake Moero.

One feels quite enthusiastic when listening to Livingstone's description
of the beauties of Moero scenery. Pent in on all sides by high
mountains, clothed to the edges with the rich vegetation of the tropics,
the Moero discharges its superfluous waters through a deep rent in the
bosom of the mountains. The impetuous and grand river roars through
the chasm with the thunder of a cataract, but soon after leaving its
confined and deep bed it expands into the calm and broad Lualaba,
stretching over miles of ground. After making great bends west and
south-west, and then curving northward, it enters Kamolondo. By
the natives it is called the Lualaba, but the Doctor, in order to
distinguish it from other rivers of the same name, has given it the name
of "Webb's River," after Mr. Webb, the wealthy proprietor of Newstead
Abbey, whom the Doctor distinguishes as one of his oldest and most
consistent friends. Away to the south-west from Kamolondo is another
large lake, which discharges its waters by the important River Loeki, or
Lomami, into the great Lualaba. To this lake, known as Chebungo by
the natives, Dr. Livingstone has given the name of "Lincoln," to be
hereafter distinguished on maps and in books as Lake Lincoln, in memory
of Abraham Lincoln, our murdered President. This was done from the vivid
impression produced on his mind by hearing a portion of his inauguration
speech read from an English pulpit, which related to the causes that
induced him to issue his Emancipation Proclamation, by which memorable
deed 4,000,000 of slaves were for ever freed. To the memory of the man
whose labours on behalf of the negro race deserves the commendation of
all good men, Livingstone has contributed a monument more durable than
brass or stone.

Entering Webb's River from the south-south-west, a little north of
Kamolondo, is a large river called Lufira, but the streams, that
discharge themselves from the watershed into the Lualaba are so numerous
that the Doctor's map would not contain them, so he has left all out
except the most important. Continuing his way north, tracing the Lualaba
through its manifold and crooked curves as far as latitude 4 degrees
south, he came to where he heard of another lake, to the north, into
which it ran. But here you may come to a dead halt, and read what lies
beyond this spot thus.... This was the furthermost point, whence he was
compelled to return on the weary road to Ujiji, a distance of 700 miles.

In this brief sketch of Dr. Livingstone's wonderful travels it is to be
hoped the most superficial reader, as well as the student of geography,
comprehends this grand system of lakes connected together by Webb's
River. To assist him, let him glance at the map accompanying this book.
He will then have a fair idea of what Dr. Livingstone has been doing
during these long years, and what additions he has made to the study of
African geography. That this river, distinguished under several titles,
flowing from one lake into another in a northerly direction, with all
its great crooked bends and sinuosities, is the Nile--the true Nile--the
Doctor has not the least doubt. For a long time he entertained great
scepticism, because of its deep bends and curves west, and south-west
even; but having traced it from its head waters, the Chambezi, through
7 degrees of latitude--that is, from 11 degrees S. to lat. 4 degrees
N.--he has been compelled to come to the conclusion that it can be no
other river than the Nile. He had thought it was the Congo; but has
discovered the sources of the Congo to be the Kassai and the Kwango, two
rivers which rise on the western side of the Nile watershed, in about
the latitude of Bangweolo; and he was told of another river called the
Lubilash, which rose from the north, and ran west. But the Lualaba, the
Doctor thinks, cannot be the Congo, from its great size and body,
and from its steady and continued flow northward through a broad and
extensive valley, bounded by enormous mountains westerly and easterly.
The altitude of the most northerly point to which the Doctor traced the
wonderful river was a little in excess of 2,000 feet; so that, though
Baker makes out his lake to be 2,700 feet above the sea, yet the Bahr
Ghazal, through which Petherick's branch of the White Nile issues into
the Nile, is but 2,000 feet; in which case there is a possibility that
the Lualaba may be none other than Petherick's branch.

It is well known that trading stations for ivory have been established
for about 500 miles up Petherick's branch. We must remember this fact
when told that Gondokoro, in lat. 4 degrees N., is 2,000 feet above the
sea, and lat. 4 degrees S., where the halt was made, is only a little
over 2,000 feet above the sea. That the two rivers said to be 2,000 feet
above the sea, separated from each other by 8 degrees of latitude, are
one and the same river, may among some men be regarded as a startling
statement. But we must restrain mere expressions of surprise, and take
into consideration that this mighty and broad Lualaba is a lacustrine
river broader than the Mississippi; that at intervals the body of water
forms extensive lakes; then, contracting into a broad river, it again
forms a lake, and so on, to lat. 4 degrees; and even beyond this point
the Doctor hears of a large lake again north.

We must wait also until the altitudes of the two rivers, the Lualaba,
where the Doctor halted, and the southern point on the Bahr Ghazal,
where Petherick has been, are known with perfect accuracy.

Now, for the sake of argument, suppose we give this nameless lake a
length of 6 degrees of latitude, as it may be the one discovered by
Piaggia, the Italian traveller, from which Petherick's branch of the
White Nile issues out through reedy marshes, into the Bahr Ghazal,
thence into the White Nile, south of Gondokoro. By this method we can
suppose the rivers one; for if the lake extends over so many degrees of
latitude, the necessity of explaining the differences of altitude that
must naturally exist between two points of a river 8 degrees of latitude
apart, would be obviated.

Also, Livingstone's instruments for observation and taking altitudes
may have been in error; and this is very likely to have been the case,
subjected as they have been to rough handling during nearly six years
of travel. Despite the apparent difficulty of the altitude, there is
another strong reason for believing Webb's River, or the Lualaba, to be
the Nile. The watershed of this river, 600 miles of which Livingstone
has travelled, is drained from a valley which lies north and south
between lofty eastern and western ranges.

This valley, or line of drainage, while it does not receive the Kassai
and the Kwango, receives rivers flowing from a great distance west, for
instance, the important tributaries Lufira and Lomami, and large
rivers from the east, such as the Lindi and Luamo; and, while the most
intelligent Portuguese travellers and traders state that the Kassai, the
Kwango, and Lubilash are the head waters of the Congo River, no one
has yet started the supposition that the grand river flowing north, and
known by the natives as the Lualaba, is the Congo.

This river may be the Congo, or, perhaps, the Niger. If the Lualaba is
only 2,000 feet above the sea, and the Albert N'Yanza 2,700 feet, the
Lualaba cannot enter that lake. If the Bahr Ghazal does not extend by
an arm for eight degrees above Gondokoro, then the Lualaba cannot be the
Nile. But it would be premature to dogmatise on the subject. Livingstone
will clear up the point himself; and if he finds it to be the Congo,
will be the first to admit his error.

Livingstone admits the Nile sources have not been found, though he has
traced the Lualaba through seven degrees of latitude flowing north; and,
though he has not a particle of doubt of its being the Nile, not yet can
the Nile question be said to be resolved and ended. For two reasons:

1. He has heard of the existence of four fountains, two of which gave
birth to a river flowing north, Webb's River, or the Lualaba, and to a
river flowing south, which is the Zambezi. He has repeatedly heard of
these fountains from the natives. Several times he has been within 100
and 200 miles from them, but something always interposed to prevent his
going to see them. According to those who have seen them, they rise on
either side of a mound or level, which contains no stones. Some have
called it an ant-hill. One of these fountains is said to be so large
that a man, standing on one side, cannot be seen from the other. These
fountains must be discovered, and their position taken. The Doctor does
not suppose them to be south of the feeders of Lake Bangweolo. In his
letter to the 'Herald' he says "These four full-grown gushing fountains,
rising so near each other, and giving origin to four large rivers,
answer in a certain degree to the description given of the unfathomable
fountains of the Nile, by the secretary of Minerva, in the city of Sais,
in Egypt, to the father of all travellers--Herodotus."

For the information of such readers as may not have the original at
hand, I append the following from Cary's translation of Herodotus:
(II.28)

(Jul 2001 The History of Herodotus V1 by Herodotus; Macaulay)

***  With respect to the sources of the Nile, no man of all the
  Egyptians, Libyans, or Grecians, with whom I have conversed,
  ever pretended to know anything, except the registrar* of Minerva's

*the secretary of the treasury of the goddess Neith, or Athena as
Herodotus calls her: ho grammatiste:s to:n hiro:n xre:mato:n te:s
Athe:naie:s>

  treasury at Sais, in Egypt.  He, indeed, seemed to be trifling
  with me when he said he knew perfectly well; yet his account was
  as follows: "That there are two mountains, rising into a sharp
  peak, situated between the city of Syene, in Thebais, and
  Elephantine.  The names of these mountains are the one Crophi,
  the other Mophi; that the sources of the Nile, which are bottomless,
  flow from between these mountains and that half of the water flows
  over Egypt and to the north, the other half over Ethiopia and the
  south.  That the fountains of the Nile are bottomless, he said,
  Psammitichus, king of Egypt, proved by experiment: for, having
  caused a line to be twisted many thousand fathoms in length, he
  let it down, but could not find a bottom."  Such, then, was the
  opinion the registrar gave, if, indeed, he spoke the real truth;
  proving, in my opinion, that there are strong whirlpools and an
  eddy here, so that the water beating against the rocks, a
  sounding-line, when let down, cannot reach the bottom.  I was
  unable to learn anything more from any one else.  But thus much
  I learnt by carrying my researches as far as possible, having gone
  and made my own observations as far as Elephantine, and beyond
  that obtaining information from hearsay.  As one ascends the river,
  above the city of Elephantine, the country is steep; here,
  therefore; it is necessary to attach a rope on both sides of a boat,
  as one does with an ox in a plough, and so proceed; but if
  the rope should happen to break, the boat is carried away by the
  force of the stream.  This kind of country lasts for a four-days'
  passage, and the Nile here winds as much as the Maeander.  There
  are twelve schoeni, which it is necessary to sail through in
  this manner; and after that you will come to a level plain, where
  the Nile flows round an island; its name is Tachompso.  Ethiopians
  inhabit the country immediately above Elephantine, and one half
  of the island; the other half is inhabited by Egyptians.  Near to
  this island lies a vast lake, on the borders of which Ethiopian
  nomades dwell.  After sailing through this lake you will come to
  the channel of the Nile, which flows into it: then you will have
  to land and travel forty days by the side of the river, for sharp
  rocks rise in the Nile, and there are many sunken ones, through
  which it is not possible to navigate a boat.  Having passed this
  country in the forty days, you must go on board another boat, and
  sail for twelve days; and then you will arrive at a large city,
  called Meroe; this city is said to be the capital of all
  Ethiopia.  The inhabitants worship no other gods than Jupiter and
  Bacchus; but these they honour with great magnificence.  They
  have also an oracle of Jupiter; and they make war whenever that
  god bids them by an oracular warning, and against whatever
  country he bids them.  Sailing from this city, you will arrive at
  the country of the Automoli, in a space of time equal to that
  which you took in coming from Elephantine to the capital of the
  Ethiopians.  These Automoli are called by the name of Asmak,
  which, in the language of Greece, signifies "those that stand at
  the left hand of the king."  These, to the number of two hundred and
  forty thousand of the Egyptian war-tribe, revolted to the
  Ethiopians on the following occasion.  In the reign of King
  Psammitichus garrisons were stationed at Elephantine against the
  Ethiopians, and another at the Pelusian Daphnae against the
  Arabians and Syrians, and another at Marea against Libya; and even
  in my time garrisons of the Persians are stationed in the same
  places as they were in the time of Psammitichus, for they
  maintain guards at Elephantine and Daphnae.  Now, these Egyptians,
  after they had been on duty three years, were not relieved;
  therefore, having consulted together and come to an unanimous
  resolution, they all revolted from Psammitichus, and went to
  Ethiopia.  Psammitichus, hearing of this, pursued them; and when
  he overtook them he entreated them by many arguments, and adjured
  them not to forsake the gods of their fathers, and their
  children and wives But one of them is reported to have uncovered
  [        ] and to have said, that wheresoever these were there they

["which it is said that one of them pointed to his privy member and
said that wherever this was, there would they have both children and
wives"--Macaulay tr.; published edition censors]

  should find both children and wives."  These men, when they arrived
  in Ethiopia, offered their services to the king of the Ethiopians,
  who made them the following recompense.  There were certain
  Ethiopians disaffected towards him; these he bade them expel,
  and take possession of their land.  By the settlement of these men
  among the Ethiopians, the Ethiopians became more civilized, and
  learned the manners of the Egyptians.

  Now, for a voyage and land journey of four months, the Nile is
  known, in addition to the part f the stream that is in Egypt; for,
  upon computation, so many months are known to be spent by a
  person who travels from Elephantine to the Automoli.  This river
  flows from the west and the setting of the sun; but beyond this no
  one is able to speak with certainty, for the rest of the country
  is desert by reason of the excessive heat.  But I have heard the
  following account from certain Cyrenaeans, who say that they went
  to the oracle of Ammon, and had a conversation with Etearchus, King
  of the Ammonians, and that, among other subjects, they happened to
  discourse about the Nile--that nobody knew its sources; whereupon
  Etearchus said that certain Nasamonians once came to him--this
  nation is Lybian, and inhabits the Syrtis, and the country for no
  great distance eastward of the Syrtis--and that when these
  Nasamonians arrived, and were asked if they could give any
  further formation touching the deserts of Libya, they answered,
  that there were some daring youths amongst them, sons of powerful
  men; and that they, having reached man's estate, formed many
  other extravagant plans, and, moreover, chose five of their number
  by lot to explore the deserts of Libya, to see if they could make
  any further discovery than those who had penetrated the farthest.
  (For, as respects the parts of Libya along the Northern Sea,
  beginning from Egypt to the promontory of Solois, where is the
  extremity of Libya, Libyans and various nations of Libyans reach
  all along it, except those parts which are occupied by Grecians
  and Phoenicians; but as respects the parts above the sea, and
  those nations which reach down to the sea, in the upper parts
  Libya is infested by wild beasts; and all beyond that is sand,
  dreadfully short of water, and utterly desolate.)  They further
  related, "that when the young men deputed by their companions
  set out, well furnished with water and provisions, they passed
  first through the inhabited country; and having traversed this,
  they came to the region infested by wild beasts; and after this
  they crossed the desert, making their way towards the west; and
  when they had traversed much sandy ground, during a journey of
  many days, they at length saw some trees growing in a plain; and
  that they approached and began to gather the fruit that grew on
  the trees; and while they were gathering, some diminutive men,
  less than men of middle stature, came up, and having seized them
  carried them away; and that the Nasamonians did not at all understand
  their language, nor those who carried them off the language of
  the Nasamonians.  However, they conducted them through vast
  morasses, and when they had passed these, they came to a city in
  which all the inhabitants were of the same size as their conductors,
  and black in colour: and by the city flowed a great river, running
  from the west to the east, and that crocodiles were seen in it."
  Thus far I have set forth the account of Etearchus the Ammonian;
  to which may be added, as the Cyrenaeans assured me, "that he said
  the Nasamonians all returned safe to their own country, and that
  the men whom they came to were all necromancers."  Etearchus also
  conjectured that this river, which flows by their city, is the Nile;
  and reason so evinces: for the Nile flows from Libya, and intersects
  it in the middle; and (as I conjecture, inferring things unknown
  from things known) it sets out from a point corresponding with the
  Ister.  For the Ister, beginning from the Celts, and the city of
  Pyrene, divides Europe in its course; but the Celts are beyond
  the pillars of Hercules, and border on the territories of the
  Cynesians, who lie in the extremity of Europe to the westward;
  and the Ister terminates by flowing through all Europe into the
  Euxine Sea, where a Milesian colony is settled in Istria.  Now
  the Ister, as it flows through a well-peopled country, is generally
  known; but no one is able to speak about the sources of the Nile,
  because Libya, through which it flows, is uninhabited and desolate.
  Respecting this stream, therefore, as far as I was able to reach by
  inquiry, I have already spoken.  It however discharges itself into
  Egypt; and Egypt lies, as near as may be, opposite to the
  mountains of Cilicia; from whence to Sinope, on the Euxine Sea,
  is a five days' journey in a straight line to an active man; and
  Sinope is opposite to the Ister, where it discharges itself into
  the sea.  So I think that the Nile, traversing the whole of Libya,
  may be properly compared with the Ister.  Such, then, is the
  account that I am able to give respecting the Nile.
  *** <end of Herodotus's account) ***

2. Webb's River must be traced to its connection with some portion of
the old Nile.

When these two things have been accomplished, then, and not till then,
can the mystery of the Nile be explained. The two countries through
which the marvellous lacustrine river, the Lualaba, flows, with its
manifold lakes and broad expanse of water, are Rua (the Uruwwa of Speke)
and Manyuema. For the first time Europe is made aware that between
the Tanganika and the known sources of the Congo there exist teeming
millions of the negro race, who never saw, or heard of the white people
who make such a noisy and busy stir outside of Africa. Upon the minds
of those who had the good fortune to see the first specimen of these
remarkable white races in Dr. Livingstone, he seems to have made a
favourable impression, though, through misunderstanding his object, and
coupling him with the Arabs, who make horrible work there, his life
was sought after more than once. These two extensive countries, Rua
and Manyuema, are populated by true heathens, governed, not as the
sovereignties of Karagwah, Urundi, and Uganda, by despotic kings, but
each village by its own sultan or lord. Thirty miles outside of their
own immediate settlements, the most intelligent of these small chiefs
seem to know nothing. Thirty miles from the Lualaba, there were but few
people who had ever heard of the great river. Such ignorance among
the natives of their own country naturally increased the labours of
Livingstone. Compared with these, all tribes and nations in Africa with
whom Livingstone came in contact may be deemed civilized, yet, in
the arts of home manufacture, these wild people of Manyuema were far
superior to any he had seen. Where other tribes and nations contented
themselves with hides and skins of animals thrown negligently over their
shoulders, the people of Manyuema manufactured a cloth from fine grass,
which may favorably compare with the finest grass cloth of India. They
also know the art of dyeing them in various colours--black, yellow,
and purple. The Wangwana, or freed-men of Zanzibar, struck with the
beauty of the fabric, eagerly exchange their cotton cloths for fine
grass cloth; and on almost every black man from Manyuema I have seen
this native cloth converted into elegantly made damirs (Arabic)--short
jackets. These countries are also very rich in ivory. The fever for
going to Manyuema to exchange tawdry beads for its precious tusks is
of the same kind as that which impelled men to go to the gulches and
placers of California, Colorado, Montana, and Idaho; after nuggets to
Australia, and diamonds to Cape Colony. Manyuema is at present the El
Dorado of the Arab and the Wamrima tribes. It is only about four years
since that the first Arab returned from Manyuema, with such wealth of
ivory, and reports about the fabulous quantities found there, that ever
since the old beaten tracks of Karagwah, Uganda, Ufipa, and Marungu have
been comparatively deserted. The people of Manyuema, ignorant of the
value of the precious article, reared their huts upon ivory stanchions.
Ivory pillars were common sights in Manyuema, and, hearing of these, one
can no longer, wonder at the ivory palace of Solomon. For generations
they have used ivory tusks as door-posts and supports to the eaves,
until they had become perfectly rotten and worthless. But the advent of
the Arabs soon taught them the value of the article. It has now risen
considerably in price, though still fabulously cheap. At Zanzibar
the value of ivory per frasilah of 35 lbs. weight is from $50 to $60,
according to its quality. In Unyanyembe it is about $1-10 per pound, but
in Manyuema, it may be purchased for from half a cent to 14 cent's worth
of copper per pound of ivory. The Arabs, however, have the knack of
spoiling markets by their rapacity and cruelty. With muskets, a small
party of Arabs is invincible against such people as those of Manyuema,
who, until lately, never heard the sound of a gun. The discharge of a
musket inspires mortal terror in them, and it is almost impossible to
induce them to face the muzzle of a gun. They believe that the Arabs
have stolen the lightning, and that against such people the bow and
arrow can have little effect. They are by no means devoid of courage,
and they have often declared that, were it not for the guns, not one
Arab would leave the country alive; this tends to prove that they would
willingly engage in fight with the strangers who had made themselves
so detestable, were it not that the startling explosion of gunpowder
inspires them with terror.

Into what country soever the Arabs enter, they contrive to render their
name and race abominated. But the mainspring of it all is not the Arab's
nature, colour, or name, but simply the slave-trade. So long as the
slave-trade is permitted to be kept up at Zanzibar, so long will these
otherwise enterprising people, the Arabs, kindle gainst them the hatred
of the natives throughout Africa.

On the main line of travel from Zanzibar into the interior of Africa
these acts of cruelty are unknown, for the very good reason that
the natives having been armed with guns, and taught how to use those
weapons, are by no means loth to do so whenever an opportunity presents
itself. When, too late, they have perceived their folly in selling guns
to the natives, the Arabs now begin to vow vengeance on the person who
will in future sell a gun to a native. But they are all guilty of the
same mistake, and it is strange they did not perceive that it was folly
when they were doing so.

In former days the Arab, when protected by his slave escort, armed with
guns, could travel through Useguhha, Urori, Ukonongo, Ufipa, Karagwah,
Unyoro, and Uganda, with only a stick in his hand; now, however, it is
impossible for him or any one else to do so. Every step he takes, armed
or unarmed, is fraught with danger. The Waseguhha, near the coast,
detain him, and demand the tribute, or give him the option of war;
entering Ugogo, he is subjected every day to the same oppressive demand,
or to the fearful alternative. The Wanyamwezi also show their readiness
to take the same advantage; the road to Karagwah is besieged with
difficulties; the terrible Mirambo stands in the way, defeats their
combined forces with ease, and makes raids even to the doors of their
houses in Unyanyembe; and should they succeed in passing Mirambo, a
chief--Swaruru--stands before them who demands tribute by the bale, and
against whom it is useless to contend.

These remarks have reference to the slave-trade inaugurated in Manyuema
by the Arabs. Harassed on the road between Zanzibar and Unyanyembe
by minatory natives, who with bloody hands are ready to avenge the
slightest affront, the Arabs have refrained from kidnapping between the
Tanganika and the sea; but in Manyuema, where the natives are timid,
irresolute, and divided into small weak tribes, they recover their
audacity, and exercise their kidnapping propensities unchecked.

The accounts which the Doctor brings from that new region are most
deplorable. He was an unwilling spectator of a horrible deed--a massacre
committed on the inhabitants of a populous district who had assembled
in the market-place on the banks of the Lualaba, as they had been
accustomed to do for ages. It seems that the Wamanyuema are very fond of
marketing, believing it to be the summum bonum of human enjoyment. They
find endless pleasure in chaffering with might and main for the least
mite of their currency--the last bead; and when they gain the point to
which their peculiar talents are devoted, they feel intensely happy.
The women are excessively fond of this marketing, and, as they are very
beautiful, the market place must possess considerable attractions for
the male sex. It was on such a day amidst such a scene, that Tagamoyo,