"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.

"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.

              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.