A heroic treatment of quinine, beginning with 20-grain doses, and ending with two grains, per diem, and a long course of stomachic chiretta—the Kirait which the Goanese drink, flavoured with lime juice, every Sunday before church—induced a convalescence, accompanied by the usual unpleasant sequelæ. The S. West or rainy monsoon, which came in like a lion, had improved my health, but it detained the Expedition at Zanzibar. We utilized the delay by buying outfit, which for economy must be provided before the opening of the trading season; by making arrangements for an escort, and by looking to the hundred impedimenta which appertain to African exploration.

Yet I was possessed by a nervous impatience to be up and doing. During the year of grace 1867 it was proposed to penetrate into the Eastern and Central Regions from all directions. The Escayrac de Lauture enterprise has been already mentioned. Zanzibar also expected an American Expedition. A Major Cotheal, of New York, had visited the coast in his own vessel, with the view of pushing into the interior. Like his many predecessors—Captain Smee for instance—he failed to find the debouchure of the Denok, Vumbo, Gob, Gob-wen, Juba, Webbe Ganana, Govind, Dos Fuegos or Rogues^[45] River, which forms the true northern limit of continental Zanzibar, dividing inland the Galla from the Somal, and which the hydrographers have placed in S. lat. 0° 14′ 30″, thus nearly corresponding parallel with the Gaboon. But he had observed a discolouration of the sea, which raised his hopes of being able to measure and survey the mysterious outlet. Despite the labours of Lieut. Christopher, there is still an abundance of work to be done about the embouchures and more upon the upper courses of the ‘Nile of Makdishu’ (Webbe Gamana) and the Juba (Webbe Ganana); whilst the sad loss of Baron von der Decken only increases our curiosity about the latter stream. It is doubtful, even in the present day, whether the mouth of the Juba is dry in the rainless season or not. Major Cotheal’s prospects were kept dark: it was, however, understood that the party would be composed of white men accustomed to endure fatigue and to face danger, escorted by free blacks from the United States, and by natives of the country as guides and porters. All scientific researches and even exact observations were to be postponed, lest they should impede progress: this manner of exploration, which would find scant favour in English eyes, is evidently best fitted to open a way for the physicist through unexplored and possibly dangerous regions. I never doubted that the Anglo-American, familiar with the negro race from his infancy, and strong in nervous temperament, carrying little flesh and comparatively abstemious, would be the best of African explorers, and my subsequent experiences on the west coast of Africa in the Bights of Benin and Biafra, from Cape Palmas to the Gaboon river, have confirmed the belief. Major Cotheal’s exploration, however, was fated to remain in limbo.

An expedition was also proposed at the Cape of Good Hope on a plan recommended by the lamented naturalist, Professor Wahlberg. Several waggons starting simultaneously would separate upon the threshold of the tropics, and, after exploring eastward and westward, would rendezvous at a given place, and confer upon the ways and means of further advance. Nothing appeared more feasible than such a prospect, and the brilliant success of Messrs Livingstone, Murray, and Oswell, then fresh in the public mind, had proved that intertropical Africa could be penetrated with less fatigue and risk of disease from the Cape than from any other point. Dr Wahlberg, however, was killed by an elephant, and his plan was allowed to lie in nubibus.

We left for the interior before Zanzibar Island was visited by the Père Léon d’Avanchers, whose name has since become familiar to geographers: en revauche I met M. Gabrielli de Rivalta, a capuchin of the Lyons Mission, who was proceeding to his head-quarters, the before inaccessible Kaffa country. He had lately learned at Rome that four or five other missioners would be sent to reap the unparalleled harvest reported by Monsignor Guglielmo Massaga, the Vicario Apostolico dei Gallas, who had made that place his home, and who had sent branch establishments to Enarea and Goodroo. Some 40,000 pagans had, it was asserted, embraced Christianity, and conversions were still taking place in legions. Unable to enter Africa viâ Masawah, on account of the religious excitement that burned high amongst the Abyssinians, Father Gabrielli resolved to land at Makdishu, and to march upon Ganana, travelling alone and unarmed, amongst the fiercest tribes of East Africa, the Gallas, and the Somal. The successes which have crowned the efforts of Catholic missioners in these eastern regions reflect honour upon their system, and cast a deep shade upon the desultory individualistic display of Protestant energy. On the West Coast of Africa, however, I found that both had equally and completely failed.

At length, strength and energy returning, I resolved once more to visit the coast, and to collect information upon certain interesting subjects, concerning which the Secretary of the Bombay Geographical Society had (Dec. 8, 1856) forwarded to Government the following remarks:—

‘It will be eminently interesting to know whether the great limestone formation, extending in one vast continuous band from the banks of the Burrumputra to those of the Tagus, and from which Captain Burton forwarded valuable specimens from the Somali country, prevails as far south as the Line, and to what distance it extends into the interior. It will be desirable to ascertain whether the upheaved sea-beach, such as that which forms the esplanade, and is the favourite habitat of the cocoa-nut groves around, prevails along the shores of Africa, and whether, if so, it manifests those signs of a double depression or upheaval which characterize it in most parts of the world.... Of the £300,000 worth of commerce between Eastern Africa and Western India—the principal part being that of Zanzibar—gums and resin-trees form an important part, nearly £20,000 worth being exported from Zanzibar. The most valuable of these are copal and gum Animi, the principal supplies being found under-ground, from which they are washed out by streams and torrents. Like the Dammer of Singapore, and some of the most important gum resins of Australia, they may be regarded as semi-fossils, the produce of forests which have long since disappeared.... We should like to know whether the Valeria Indica, which produces it, still abounds as a tree; as also what may have been the extent, what the position and circumstances of the extinct forests, of which it now constitutes the principal trace.... Copal has of late years become so scarce, so much in demand, and so dear, that what was formerly thrown away would probably be considered of value in the market; and there are few of the investigations a traveller can undertake the people of England value so highly as those that can be turned to commercial account. Materially to reduce the price of coach-varnish would probably be considered to entitle Captain Burton to a larger share of the gratitude of his countrymen than the measurement of the elevation of the Mountains of the Moon or the Determination of the Sources of the Nile.’^[46]

On May 11, accompanied by Sidi Bombay and by Said bin Salim, with his by no means merry men, I set out in the ‘Mtope’ (the Mud), a small Machua manned by the slaves of Mr Banyan Ramji. Running before a fair wind, and ‘rushed’ by an occasional raffale, we crossed in five hours the Manche that separates Zanzibar from Sa’adani, a trading port on the Continent, nearly parallel with the northern cape of the Island. The settlement is not seen till within the shortest distance, when the mangroves disclose it. The landing-place is bad; if the water is out small craft must lie about half-a-mile from the shore; at flood-tide they round a small sandspit, and enter the shallow, rushy Khor (bay), which passes the settlement. Passengers then disembark in canoes. The site of the village is frontier-land: to the north are the Wazegura savages, and southward, behind ‘Utondwe,’ lie the Wadoe, who are reported by all to have learned cannibalism during their wars with the Wakamba.^[47] I should say ‘lay’: these Wadoe have of late years been driven away from their ancient seats by the Wamasai, and like the Waboni, they have occupied the lands on the north bank of the Adi or Sabaki river. The Wakamba, again, have been expelled, and the Wazeramo, a fierce and unmanageable tribe, has now transferred itself to the interior. The point or headland bounding the bay southwards, and giving a name to the little maritime province whose southern limit is Whinde (Uende of M. Rebmann), is still known as Utondwe, and is said to show ruins of habitations. Thus Watondwi, which Mr Cooley translates ‘picking-grounds,’ i. e. places where shell-fish are gathered, would mean the people of Utondwe. Nothing can be more misleading than such expressions as ‘the kingdom of Atondo,’ used by Do Couto and others. These royalties are mere districts ruled by petty headmen, of which each port-village has one, potent within their own bounds or palisades, but powerless a mile beyond them. They correspond with the River Kings and Hill Kings of Guinea, the ridiculous King Jacks and King Boys of the Western Coast—both degraded by intercourse with superior races, these with Europeans, those with the Arabs. ‘Otondo’ is mentioned in the Portuguese inscription over the fort gate of Mombasah; and in 1528 its Shaykh came to the assistance of Nuno da Cunha with five or six thousand black archers, probably slaves and savages, who are described as very agile and trained to war.

Sa’adani stands upon a swampy green flat, defended, as are most of these places, against the sea, which is apparently but little below its level, by a high sandbank and natural dykes. From Panga-ni, southward, the littoral suddenly falls flat, becoming an alluvial plain of green swamps, cut by hundreds of mangrove creeks: it is backed by higher ground, the blue line seen from Zanzibar Island, and the habitat of the wilder races. The harbours are mostly open roads or inlets, into which only native craft can run, whilst square-rigged ships must lie three miles in the offing, and much exposed. The deeper water abounds in fish, and the tides retire 12 to 13 feet, leaving a broad expanse of naked mud. Constant troubles with neighbours have caused this port-village to be surrounded by a strong stockade of tree-trunks, and have greatly reduced its extent. The hundred huts of thatch, wattle and dab, may now contain 700 to 800 souls, including a Banyan, a Kasimi Arab, and a stray Baloch: a few years ago it could turn out 300 matchlocks. The two stone mosques, which the people declare to be ancient, are in ruins. Here the Wasawahili, who in a thin fringe line the whole coast, appear to be healthier than on the Island of Zanzibar. As usual, there is less rain, and the little Msika is often wanting. They send at all seasons foot caravans to Nguru—the Ngu of M. Rebmann—a hilly region seven to eight days’ march, nearly due west. The normal ventures are beads, cloth, and wires, and the returns are ivory and slaves, with smaller items, such as rhinoceros’ horn and various hides. The trading parties are absent about six weeks, when no news of them will be held good news: formerly the wild Wanguru used to visit the coast, till deterred by Moslem ‘Avanies.’ The village exports sheep and ghi, holcus, maize, and especially copal. A little cotton (pamba) for domestic use is grown on the sandy landward slope of the natural dyke, about one mile from the sea: the shrub is allowed to run to wood. A few words upon cotton-growing in Zanzibar and East Africa generally may not be misplaced here.

The mountains of Harar, that ancient capital of the Adel Empire, are a granitic mass covered with red argillaceous soil: they produce in plenty a fine, long-stapled, firm and heavy cotton, with peculiarly flexible and tenacious filament. Yarn is hand-spun by the women with two wooden bobbins, and the primitive loom is worked by both sexes: the result is a cloth, warm and soft as silk, which surpasses in beauty and durability the vapid produce of our power-looms, as much as the perfect hand of man excels the finest machinery. The ‘Tobe’ of Harar consists of a double length of 11 × 2 cubits, with a bright scarlet border, and the value of a good article even in the city is $8. The laziness of the people and the risks of the journey, 15 days of wild travel to the coast, prevent any exportation of made cloth, and years must elapse before the obstacles are removed.

The coast of Eastern Intertropical Africa produces everywhere, as far as my wanderings extended, a small quantity of cotton now used only for domestic purposes. The rich ochreous clays and the black earths fat with decayed vegetation, cause the neglected shrub to grow luxuriantly. The mountains of Usumbara north of the Panga-ni river are peculiarly fitted by climate and geological formation for growing the shrub. I afterwards found it in Unyamwezi planted here and there amongst the huts, and in N. lat. 4° Capt. Grant observed the Gossypium punctatum, a perennial whose produce was woven into women’s aprons. There is no reason to despair of producing in East Africa a cotton which might rival the celebrated growths of Algeria and Egypt; at present, however, as Dr Livingstone’s second Expedition proved, the conditions of export are far inferior to those of Abeokuta and of Accra a whole generation ago.

Said bin Salim having formerly been Governor of Sa’adani, we were received by the crowd with all the honours. The Chief Bori was absent, visiting Kipombui, a village lying a few miles north: he was preparing to fight one Abdullah Mákitá, a Msegeju chief living near Tanga, and his intimate relations with Muigni Khatib of Usumbara would allow him free passage along the coast. He is famed through all the country-side for a mighty soul contained in a little body, and for a princely generosity which fills his house with hungry feeders. At present he is on bad terms with his brother Mohammed, Chief of Urumwi, a settlement three hours to the south, and the latter lately burned down Sa’adani. Here when a Diwan is poor he has only to attack a wealthy neighbour, drive off a hundred head of slaves, and send to market those not wanted as home-hands—this eternal state of feud of course greatly demoralizes the people.

One of Bori’s many cousins led us to the ‘Government House,’ which was surrounded with a wall of stone and lime: he found lodgings for us in a large hut and a broad verandah; after some delay we were fed with dates and coffee, with rice and cream pressed from pounded cocoa-nut meat, and with fowls and mutton, the victim being a dun-coloured sheep with a long fat tail, very unlike the Somali breed. In the evening there was a Ngoma Khu, the normal dance of honour, preluded by the loud singing of the women inside the house, and by the warning sound of three drums. The corps de ballet, a dozen strong, young and old, then defiled before us. Their heads were clean shaven, or half grown, or covered with short stiff curls intensely black and forming the least grotesque of African coiffures: the dress was an indigo-dyed stuff with large red stripes and border extending to the feet, and round the bosom a white cloth or some coloured cotton contrasted with the blue. Presently the ballerinas formed line and divided into two parties, facing inwards; the performance consisted of trampling and twirling with heads inclined on one side, and eyes modestly fixed upon the ground, whilst palms were kneaded as if washing

A passing sail drew off all the spectators as though they had been Cornish wreckers in the olden times, who had successfully fastened their lantern to a bullock’s horns. The most interesting of the crowd were the sylvan men in skin aprons stained with Mimosa-bark: their widely opened mouths proved that curiosity was reciprocal. Some of the younger girls had the beauty of negrodom, and none appeared to be bégueules: here the people pass all the time not given to trade in love-making and intrigue. As in the Bombay of 1857, damages have been made cheap and feasible for the co-respondent: an affair with a Diwan’s wife costs five slaves, with a ‘common person’ one slave, with the chattel of another man five to six cloths, and so on.

The day after our arrival was a forced halt, the copal-diggers had set out in another direction before dawn, and no donkey-saddle was to be found: the next, however, was more propitious. Led by Mánji, the Akida’ao, Mtu-Mkuba, Mukaddam, or headman of the gang, we walked west over an alluvial plain of blue earth, veiled with white sand, a narrow path, threading the dwarf plantations of maize and manioc, of cucumber, pulse (Lobiya), and the castor plant growing everywhere wild. Crossing, after some 200 yards, a sandy Nullah, which supplies sweet water, we came to a rank and reeking, a thorny and cloth-tearing vegetation, and to thick, coarse spear-grass, burned down in the dry weather: this is the home of the spur-fowl, the Kudu, and other antelopes. Three miles (by pedometer) of damp trudging, a shower having fallen last night, placed us before the first Msandarúsi,^[48] or copal tree (Hymenœa verrucosa. Boivin). It was growing in a thicket upon a flat covered with Mimosas, Hyphœnas, and various palms, the cocoa being absent. The specimen, though young, was some 30 feet tall, and measured about a yard in girth: it was not in flower nor in fruit; the latter, according to the people, is a berry like a grain of Muhindi (maize). Climbing up the straight, smooth trunk to secure specimens of wood, bark, and leaf, I was pitilessly assaulted by the Maji-Moto (boiling water), a long ginger-coloured and semi-transparent ant, whose every bite drew blood. From the trunk and on the ground I picked up specimens of the gum which exudes from the bole and boughs when injured by elephants, or other causes. This is the Chakazi, raw copal, whence the local ‘Jackass copal:’ it has rarely any ‘gooseskin,’ and it floats, whilst the older formation sinks, in water. Valueless to us, it produces the magnificent varnishes of China and Japan. In a paper lately read before the Linnæan Society, my friend Dr Kirk, H. B. M.’s Acting Consul at Zanzibar, declared that the fossil resin when first dug up shows no trace of the characteristic ‘goose-skin,’ which appears only when the surface is cleaned by brushing. I believe that this phenomenon is shown simply by removing the sand which fills up the interstices. But it is hard to make anything of Captain Grant’s statement—‘the true copal-gum tree is a climber, which ascends to a great height among the forest trees, and finally becomes completely detached from the original root, when the copal exudes from the extremities of these detached roots.’ He must allude, not to the well-known Msandarúsi (mentioned by M. Guillain, i. 24, ‘le M’sandarouss est un bois dur et résineux, qui donne aussi des pièces de mâture’mâture’), but to some other and unknown genus.

A fourth mile of gradual rise brought us to a distinctly-defined sea-beach, swelling about 100 feet above water, and dimly showing Zanzibar Island to the S. East. The material was sand with a slight admixture of vegetable humus: the ridge top was crowned with luxuriant thicket, and a fine of water-washed quartz pebbles defined the flank. I afterwards found the same at Muhonyera in valley of the Kinga-ni river, where the pebbles strewed the northern slope of the hillock upon which we were encamped. Captain Speke (Journal, &c., chap. ii.) inspected it on his second journey at the desire of the Royal Geographical Society, to see if it gave indications of a ‘raised sea-beach,’ and came to the conclusion that ‘no mind but one prone to discovering sea-beaches in the most unlikely places could have supposed for a moment that one existed here.’ But did he know what a raised sea-beach was, even had he seen it? He adds, ‘there are no pebbles;’ my only reply is that I picked up specimens, and I find in my Field Book, now deposited with the Royal Geographical Society, ‘Muhonyera’ ... ‘elevated, sea-beach, lines of pink, quartzose rounded pebbles.’

On this beach, as on the flat below, were frequent traces of manual labour: the tree, however, is not common,—only two appeared, within half a mile. Mánji proceeded to show me the digging process, which was of the simplest: he crowed a hole with a sharpened stick in the loose sand, and disclosed several bits of the bitumenized and semi-mineral gum. One of the slaves sank a pit about three feet deep: the earth became redder as he descended, crimson fibrous matter appeared, and presently the ground seemed to be half sand, half comminuted copal. There was neither blue clay nor tree-roots as in Zanzibar Island, nor did I find this formation in any of the wells or excavations examined upon the coast. According to the guide, the only subsoil is this ruddy arenaceous matter: his people, however, never dig lower than a man’s waist. They use the Jembe, or little iron hoe, and when ‘grist for the mill’ is wanted they form small gangs, who proceed to the ‘jungle’ for two or three days, carrying with them the necessaries of life.

The whole of this Zangian coast produces the copal of commerce: specimens have been brought to Zanzibar from the northern limits of Makdishu and Brava to Kilwa and Cape Delgado—by rough computation 800 miles. It extends, here three hours’ march, there two to three days, into the interior. On the mainland it costs half-price of what is paid upon the Island, and the indolent Wasawahili of the villages cannot be induced to dig whilst a handful of grain remains in the bin. I found it impossible to ‘trace the position and circumstances of the extinct forests, of which copal constitutes the principal remains:’ such an investigation would have entailed at least two months’ voyaging along, and dwelling upon, the fever-haunted seaboard.

I was also obliged to leave to the late secretary of the Bombay Geographical Society the task of remedying the host of evils that at present beset copal-digging. The first is the Commercial treaty of 1839, by whose tenth article H. H. the Sayyid engages ‘not to permit the establishment of any monopoly or exclusive privilege of sale within his dominions, except in the articles of ivory and gum copal on that part of the East Coast of Africa, from the port of Tangate, situated in about 5½ degrees of S. latitude, to the port of Quiloa, lying in about 7 degrees south of the equator.’ The U. S. Commercial treaty of 1833 contains no such clause, but the French treaty, concluded in 1844, thus modifies (Art. xi.) the prohibition to traffic which appears in the English treaty. ‘But if the English or Americans or any other Christian nation should carry goods, the French shall in like manner be at liberty to do so.’ With the Arabs such matters are easily managed for the benefit of both parties: when, however, European jealousies complicate the affair there is little hope of their being brought to a successful issue.

Moreover, Europeans cannot do manual labour upon the Zanzibarian seaboard. Hindustanis would fear to face, not only the fever, but the savage. A gang of 500 negroes from Kilwa or Arabs from Hazramaut taught to use moderate-sized mattocks, not the child’s plaything now in fashion, well paid and kept at regular work, would soon, by their own exertions and by example, stimulate the copal digging into liveliness or break up the unnatural monopoly. But the Sayyid’s government would object to such occupation of its territory; the Wasawahili Diwans would require propitiation; and in view of desertion, it would be necessary to make specific contracts with the chiefs of tribes, villages, and harbours. It is to be feared that such an operation would not pay, commercially speaking, though every hand might produce, as it has been calculated he can, 12 to 15 lbs. per diem. Willingly, therefore, as I would have won that highest of meeds, the gratitude of my fellow-countrymen by reducing the price of coach-varnish, I had fairly to confess that it was beyond my powers. The sole remedy is Time—perhaps an occasional East African expedition might be adhibited to advantage.

As regards the limestone band, of which I had forwarded specimens from the Somali country, no traces were found till after leaving the modern corallines and sandstones of the coast which possibly overlie it. Our march to the Usagara mountains (5000 feet high) was more fortunate: a fossil bulimus was picked up in the Western counterslope of those Eastern Ghauts, about 3200 feet above sea-level, and calcareous nodules of weather-worn ‘Kunker’ were remarked in more than one place. Captain Speke (Journal, chap. ii.) afterwards saw at Kidunda of Uzaramo on the left of the Kingani valley ‘pisolithic limestone in which marine fossils were observable.’

Nothing of interest now remained for me at Sa’adani. Before earliest dawn, when Venus hung like a lamp between dark sky and darker earth, and before the lovely flush of morning had lit up the Eastern sea, we embarked, and enjoyed a lively sail. Whilst the mainland was clear, the Island of Zanzibar had hid itself in a mass of dark dense cloud, and presently it sent to meet us heavy leaden-coloured rain apparently solid as a stone wall. We had sundry gusts and dead calms, till at last a light breeze wafted us once more into port.

‘All truth must be ultimately salutary, and all deception pernicious.’—Francis Jeffrey.

At length came the moment for departure—June 17, 1858. We had learned what we wanted to learn on the seaboard, whilst at Zanzibar Island no further information was to be procured. The rains had ended on June 5: the harvest was coming on, and trading parties were returning to the coast—every day three or four boats passed outward-bound under the windows of the Consulate.^[49] Our preparations were hurriedly made. Cogent reasons, however, compelled me to move quamprimum, and evidently delay, even for a week, might have been fatal to my project. Lieut.-Col. Hamerton’s health rapidly declined: he was compelled to lead the life of a recluse, and his ever-increasing weakness favoured the cause of our ill-wishers. Local politics became more confused, and the succession troubles more imminent, whilst the Sayyid’s Government, deceived by our silence during the rains into a belief that the Panga-ni fever had cooled our ardour, lost all interest in the enterprise, and required to be aroused from its apathy by a stiff reminder.

My old friend, the late Mr James Macqueen, has declared that the expedition was ‘organized upon erroneous and fallacious principles—with large parties of armed men, with numerous attendants, and extensive supplies.’ I can reply only that my model was the normal coast-caravan, and certainly with less apparatus we should have made less progress. We were not, however, favoured by fortune; and, as Baron Melchior de Grimm sagely observes, ‘there is nothing in this life’—especially in African travel—‘but luck, good or bad.’ The Kafilah-bashi was still Said bin Salim, who, upon receiving from Lieut.-Col. Hamerton an advance of $300, and the promise of a gold watch after return, in case of good conduct, at once pleaded a mortgage upon his plantations to the extent of $500. We were compelled to compound the matter for $250, before he could precede us to the coast, with his four slave musketeers, one lad, and two girls. The Baloch escort was, according to popular rumour, picked up in the Bazar: it began with a dozen, and it ended with seven muskets, not including the monocular Jemadar Mallok. They wanted everything imaginable,—debts to be paid, rice, lead, gunpowder, light matchlocks, $8 for an ass, and slaves to serve them. The Banyan Ramji supplied us with nine ruffians, whose only object was to lay out their, or his, money as profitably as possible in slaves; indeed, this seemed to be the end and aim of our whole native party. Upon the coast we engaged as porters 36 Unyamwezi negroes, men who usually behave well, but who are uncommonly ready to follow bad example. As the number was deficient, we supplied the place of more with some 30 baggage-asses, which added not a little to our troubles and losses.

Lieut.-Col. Hamerton listened with pleasure to my suggestion that he might at once change air, from the close, foul, fetid town, and superintend our departure from the coast. The Sayyid’s kindness was unwearied: he came to bid us adieu, and manned for us, with a crew of 20, his own corvette, the Artemise, Captain Mohammed bin Khamis. The latter having been educated in England, where he had learned to observe and survey, and imbued by ‘letters’ with the restless impulse of European civilization, had once proposed to the Royal Geographical Society himself to explore the Lake Regions; and had he been trustworthy, he might have done work valuable as that of Capt. ‘Montgomerie’s Pandits.’ His father, Khamisi wa Tani, was the ‘intelligent Sawahili or Mohammedan native of the Eastern coast of Africa,’ who had so notably cajoled Mr Cooley. This ‘mild and unassuming man’s’ antecedents were of the worst description. Born at Lamu, he became headman of the drummers at Zanzibar, and afterwards a slaver, according to M. Guillain, who terms him ‘spirituel et rusé coquin.’ In this capacity he ‘had travelled much on the mainland, he had visited many distant parts of the East, and could converse in fourteen languages.’ Turpilucricupidus then became Capt. Owen’s interpreter along the Eastern coasts of Arabia and Africa. His voyage in 1835 to London, where Shaykh Khamis bin Usman at once became an ‘African Prince,’ arose not ‘for the purpose of assorting the first cargoes shipped direct to Zanzibar,’ but from the stern necessity of temporarily leaving that Island with his head in loco, he having defrauded his master, the Sayyid, to the extent of $18,000. His ingenuity did not fail him in our country, where his revelations touching the Lake Regions and the unknown interior were delivered and chronicled with a gravity which excites laughter. Returning home, ‘the Liar,’ as he was popularly termed by his countrymen, received the Sayyid’s pardon. He then became a kind of lackey and maître d’hotel, factotum and Figaro in native houses, the ‘palace’ included, when Europeans were entertained. He has ever since devoted his talents to making himself as wealthy, and his friends as poor, as possible. I had been especially warned against him, on account of the prominent part which he took in spreading reports which led to the murder of M. Maizan, and it is not pleasant to see one’s fellow-countrymen so notably ‘humbugged.’

We found a general rendezvous at Kaole Urembo, which was attended by Ladha Damha, Chief of the Customs, the ‘’Ifrít’ Ramji, and the ex-Sarhang ‘General Tom:’ the Messrs Oswald also ran over in their four-gun schooner, the Electric Flash. On June 26, 1857, we bade adieu to Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, whose distressing alternations of insomnia, debility, and irritability had been apparently increased by the voyage. He dropped a tear as he said farewell, and solemnly blessed us, adding that we should meet no more in this world, and that he quitted it without regret. Thus it proved. He struggled against his fate, but he succumbed on July 5, the victim of a chronic liver complaint. Various reports of his death reached us in the interior, but it was not confirmed by letter till eleven months afterwards.

The work of exploring now began in real earnest. I have, however, no intention of inflicting upon the reader a rechauffé of our expedition, which has been described by me in four volumes,^[50] and of which notices have been given in another three,^[51] by Captains Speke and Grant. My principal object in alluding to them is to offer the judgment and the after-thoughts matured by a whole decade, as well as to show what has been done since. The risk of this, the first attempt, has been stated to be nil by a man who never trusted himself a mile away from the coast, and whose tenderness for his personal safety has ever been more than notorious. In writing our adventures I was careful not to make a sensation of danger; but future travellers, warned by the fate of MM. Maizan and Roscher, not to speak of Lieut. Stroyan, of Baron von der Decken’s party, nor of M. von Heuglin in the Somali country, and the detention of Dr Livingstone, will do well not to think that, when about to explore Central Africa, they are setting out upon a mere promenade. The repeated complaints respecting our petty troubles, which to readers appeared exaggerated, were true to my feeling at the time. The death of Sayyid Saíd had been our first blow; the second was the non-arrival of Dr Steinhaeuser; and the third was the loss of our excellent friend Lieut.-Col. Hamerton, whose presence at head-quarters would have forwarded our views in various ways. I have preserved copies of letters written to Banyans and others, who, after fair promises, completely neglected us. M. Ladislaus Cochet and Capt. Mansfield did their best; but as we had not taken counsel with them before departure, their efforts were, of course, limited. And the cholera which, unknown to us, had fallen upon the Island, decimating its population, naturally enough prevented the sufferers from bestowing attention upon a distant enterprise. The neglect, however, told upon our escort, and to manage them would have taxed the wisdom of Solomon and the patience of Job. The monoculous Jemadar, shortly after our return, persuaded Baron von der Decken to appoint him chief of his party when on route from Kilwa to the Nyassa or Southern Lake: as might be expected, that expedition did not reach half way. Concerning the ‘Sons of Ramji’ I find amongst my papers the following memo.:

Under different circumstances we should have been spared the hardship and suffering of all ‘up-hill work,’ of labouring against the stream of events. We might then easily have returned via Egypt to Europe, as I firmly intended, and as my companion—aided by the experience of the past, and travelling under the most favourable auspices—was able to do on his second expedition. Once thoroughly laid open, no African road is difficult, unless temporary obstacles, such as famines or bandit raids, oppose progress, and the hard crust of the coast being broken, the interior offers comparatively few obstacles. But, I repeat, in wayfaring, as in warfare, opportunity is everything: better an ounce of fortune’s favours than a ton of genius or merit.

We followed the Arab line of traffic, first laid open to Lake Tanganyika by Sayf bin Said el Muameri, about 1825. The existence of a beaten path in Africa has its advantages and its disadvantages. The natives are accustomed to travellers; they no longer perpetually attribute to them supernatural and pernicious powers, nor do they, except amongst the worst tribes, expect every manner of evil to follow the portent: it is not difficult to engage hands, nor is it impossible to collect information concerning regions which cannot be visited. At the same time, contact with the slave-dealer has increased cupidity and has diminished hospitality: the African loses all sense of savage honour, without learning to replace it by commercial honesty, and all his ingenuity is devoted to the contrivance and the carrying out of ‘avanies.’ But where, on the other hand, the explorer must hew his own way—such was the case with Paul du Chaillu from the Gaboon region, and with myself up the Congo river—and where there is no prescriptive right of transit even for pay, the adventure waxes far more difficult and dangerous. Here we see the African at home, an unmitigated savage, unmodified by acquaintance with the outer world, dwelling in the presence of his brethren, and rich in all the contrarieties of the racial character. His suspicions and his desires are at once aroused. His horror of new things struggles with his wish to make the most of them; he has no precedent for his demands, and consequently he has no sense of their absurdity. A caravan is to him a ‘Doummoulafong,’ or thing sent to be eaten, as Mungo Park’s second expedition was called. A Portuguese officer has been asked $120 by the Wamakúa for permission to visit a hill behind Mozambique, distant some 25 miles from the sea. At the Yellalah, or Rapids of the Congo river, I was required to pay, before leave to advance could be given, a fee in goods which would have amounted to £200. And expense is not the main obstacle to the success of these exceptional expeditions: the merest accident with a fire-arm may render progress impossible, and may endanger the lives of the whole party.

The most troublesome features of the beaten path to the white face are the exorbitant demands of the negro chiefs. They know that the slave-dealer, if over-taxed, will open some other and rival line. But they see the European for the first time; they never expect, nor perhaps do they desire, ever to see him again; and their only object is to gauge his generosity by extracting from him as much as possible. This is the severest trial of temper, for the explorer well knows that the end of his outfit is the end of his journey. Whilst he recognizes the absolute necessity of economy, the disappointed chief, in high dudgeon, urges his rights, perhaps with threats; and certainly causes all manner of delays and difficulties. The native in charge of the caravan fears awkward consequences, especially at times of war or draught, of famine or pestilence, and complies with the demand in secret, if prevented from acting openly, out of his own purse if not from the public funds. The over-worked traveller, scolding, storming, and getting up temper to blood-heat when required, cannot watch every string of beads or yard of cloth; and some day a report is brought to him that he is running short, when perhaps the most interesting part of his journey is within sight, and yet, for want of means, cannot be explored.

We found also an unmitigated evil in the universal practice of desertion. The fickle and inconsequent negro slave must, they say, run away once in his life, and, like the liar of the Persian Joe Miller, he will do so at the most awkward of times. The impulsive, irritable, and violent Murungwanah (libertus) is equally apt to abscond, especially after disputes with his fellows, and he generally adds injury to injury by carrying away his pack. The undisciplinable free porters disappear en masse if commons wax short, if loads be too heavy, if a fight be threatened, or if wasting of ammunition be forbidden. Under similar circumstances the turbulent Baloch mutiny and march off. During our 18 months’ march there was not, in the party of 80, an individual who did not at some time or other desert or attempt to desert us. The Second Expedition, despite all its advantages of more abundant supplies and of ample support from Zanzibar, fared not a whit better: we find in it 123 desertions duly chronicled.

For three months and a half our heart-wearing work was cheered only by two stimulants, the traveller’s delight in seeing new scenes unfold themselves before his eyes and the sense of doing a something lastingly useful to geographers. We were also opening for Europeans a new road into the heart of Africa, a region boundless in commercial resources, and bounded in commercial development only by the stereotyped barbarism of its inhabitants; and we hoped that those who might follow us would be able to turn many of the obstacles through which we were compelled to cut a way. In November, 1857, we perforce halted for rest and to reorganize the party at Kazeh in Unyamwezi, some 350 direct geographical miles from the coast. The site was the most pleasant that we had hitherto seen, a plateau (S. lat. 5° and E. long. G. 33°) in the depths of the Tropics, but made temperate by altitude (3000 to 4000 feet above sea level), studded with hills rising abruptly from fertile grassy plains, and broken by patches of cultivation, by valleys, and by forests of the richest growth.

At this half-way house the Expedition was hospitably received by the warm-hearted Arabs, Snay bin Amir, Saíd bin Majid, old Saíd bin Ali, the sons of Salim bin Rashid, Muhinna bin Sulayman, and other notabilities of the great central mart. They housed us and supplied all our wants—I know not what we should have done without their friendly aid—and the geographical information which they gave me directly led to what many have held to be the most important feature of the exploration. The Second Expedition also records its obligations in the matter of hands and rations. It found, however, Kazeh turned, into an agricultural depôt, the neighbouring villages ruined, and the people starving. The merchants had refused to pay a tax imposed upon them by Manwa Sera, son of the Fundi Kira, lord of Unyanyembe, in the days when I visited it, and the young chief, who was very popular, had been supplanted by his half-brother Msikiwa. Hence a war resulting in the death of my poor friend, the brave Snay bin Amir, who, being too proud and perhaps not young enough to run from the hosts of enemies, lay down when abandoned by his negroes and took his chance, that is to say, was slaughtered. Manwa Sera then threatened to attack Kazeh, and the Arabs begged Capt. Speke not to abandon hosts, whose warm and generous hospitality he repeatedly acknowledges. The reply was that ‘he had a duty to perform as well as themselves, and that in a day or two he would be off.’ Some men would not have treated so lightly a heavy debt of gratitude, but such compunctions are often fatal to success. Capt. Speke, I doubt not, really believed that ‘the interests of old England were at stake:’ he had not hesitated for a moment in throwing over a Himalayan friend who was to have accompanied him, nor did he deem himself otherwise but justified in separating from a companion subject to African fever recurring every fortnight.

We were detained a month at Kazeh. Purple skies, westerly gales, and furious thunderstorms, showed that the Masika Mku, or Great Rains, were about to break, and the change was evident after the high cold easterly winds which, during the six months of rainless season, sweep the elevated basin. Our gang was paid off and another was not easily collected: porters during the dry, these men became peasants in the wet weather. With infinite trouble, and only by the aid of the Arabs, we were able to leave Kazeh on December 8, during the height of the S. West monsoon. The march of 180 direct geographical miles was to us the most disastrous of all. The downfall was copious and unintermitting, storms burst over us with such thunder and lightning as I have never witnessed before or since, the flooding rivers necessitated ferry-boats, and the land, declining and draining to the westward, became one Great Dismal Swamp. Deduced in strength by persistent fevers, we could not resist the drenchings and sunburnings, the long day marches and the nights spent in unhealthy and sometimes deserted villages. My companion complained of blindness which hardly permitted him to read a watch, and I suddenly found myself helpless with paraplegia, a paralysis of the extremities, which, according to Capt. Smee, often follows febrile attacks at Zanzibar.

After a total of some 537 rectilinear geographical miles^[52] from the coast, we ascended, on Feb. 13, 1858, the well-wooded range which bounds the eastern waters of the ‘Sea of Ujiji,’ and from the western declivity we sighted—very imperfectly, it must be owned—the fair expanse of a lake whose name was then unknown to us. Some months afterwards, when reading Dr Livingstone’s first expedition, I found (chap. xxiv.) that the traveller meeting a party of Zanzibar Arabs at Naliele in the centre of the continent, heard of the ‘Tanganyenka,’ a ‘large shallow lake over which canoes were punted.’ At that time, however, I had sent to England the picturesque native name ‘Tanganyika,’ the ‘meeting-place of waters.’^[53] The sight was a cordial: this one gleam of success consoled us, made us forget the petty annoyances, the endless worry, the hardship, and the sickness which we had endured for it; and we felt a sensible relief from the grinding care which the prospect of failure must ever present.

Yet even the bright view of the blue waters had its dark side: we had left the Louisa behind, and we saw no way of navigating this lake. Reaching, on February 14, 1858, Kawele of the Ujiji district, a market village and a depot for ivory and slaves on the eastern side, and about the northern third of the Tanganyika, we housed our goods and began to cast about for canoes. The only dau or sailing craft belonged to Shaykh Hamid, an Arab trader then living at Kasenge, a little insular station near the Western shore. After making all necessary inquiries, I despatched, on May 3, my companion with a party of 26 men: he crossed the Tanganyika, but in vain—the proprietor would not convoy us round the lake, though we offered him £100 for a fortnight’s cruise. Captain Speke here met with a strange accident: a beetle crept into his ear, and being awkwardly killed, caused for 6 to 7 months deafness and suppuration: it acted, however, as a counter-irritant, and to a certain extent gave him back his sight. My companion afterwards complained loudly of being unable to accompany Hamid to the Uruwwa^[54] district, where merchants traded for ivory and copper: we should thus have spanned half the Continent, and our line could easily have been connected with Dr Livingstone’s route through Angola. As, however, on that journey Hamid and all his slaves were murdered, and their property was plundered by the people, my companion had not much to regret.

Hamid, moreover, gave information which made us wild to reach the upper end of the Tanganyika Lake. He had been so near its northern head that he had felt the outward drift of the

stream. The rains were still heavy; but as our supplies were running short, we resolved to make the attempt in any way. Kannena, the Chief of Ujiji, proved himself an ill-disposed and ungovernable savage, ever attempting to thwart our plans, and evidently holding that we were quite at his mercy. But wishing to bring ivory from Uvira, he was persuaded to escort us with two canoes. Our excursion northwards occupied 15 days, eight being the usual time; and it was not a ‘pleasure-trip.’

At Uvira my hopes of discovering the Western Nile Reservoir, and of solving the problem which has puzzled some 30 centuries, were rudely dashed to the ground. The Warundi savages, who had stopped Hamid near the northern end of the lake, were hostile to the Wajiji, and we could not proceed to the north where the mountains walling-in the water seemed to converge. Similarly the second expedition, during five months spent with the King of Ugande, was unable to sight the ‘Victoria Nyanza,’ distant five hours’ walk. Capt. Speke ascended perhaps 150 feet, but from so low an altitude he could obtain no general view of the land north of the Tanganyika, and he laid down a narrow valley. Presently receiving a visit from the three stalwart sons of the Sultan Maruta, the subject of the mysterious stream which all my informants, Arab as well as African, had made to issue from the lake, and which for months we had looked upon as the western head-stream of the Nile, was at once brought forward. All declared (probably falsely) that they had visited it; all asserted that the Rusizi river enters into, instead of flowing from, the Tanganyika, and presently Sidi Bombay, by way of the coldest consolation (‘little goat, don’t die, spring comes!’), declared that Hamid had meant the reverse of what he said. I felt sick at heart. The African’s account of stream-direction is often diametrically opposed to fact; seldom the Arab’s—in this point I differ totally from Capt. Speke. But our Wajiji would not suffer us to remain at Uvira, much less to penetrate northwards: we were compelled hurriedly to return; and thus, as has before been related, the mystery remained unsolved. I distinctly deny that any ‘misleading by my instructions from the Royal Geographical Society as to the position of the White Nile,’ made me unconscious of the vast importance of ascertaining the direction of the Rusizi river. The fact is, we did our best to reach it, and we failed.

I returned home with the conviction that the Tanganyika is a still lake. This view, however, appeared a strange hydrographical puzzle to geographers, who were not slow to combat it. Messrs Vaux and Galton, and my kind friend Mr Findlay, who has never ceased to impress the public with what he holds to be the true state of the case, doubted that an immense reservoir 250 miles long, situated at a considerable altitude in the African zone of almost constant rain, whose potable waters are free of saline substances washed down by its tributaries from the area of drainage, and which shows no marks of great accession of level, can maintain these conditions without efflux. The most natural explanation was to make the Marungu, Luapula, or Runangwa river, at the southern extremity of the Tanganyika, act outlet, and drain it to the Nyassa or Kilwa Lake, bearing S. 55° East, and distant 340 to 350 miles. The universal testimony of the natives to its being an influent formed in the mind of my companion (Journal, p. 90) six years afterwards ‘the most conclusive argument that it does run out of the lake.’ It did not appear equally conclusive to others.

The absence of all connection, however, between the Tanganyika and the Nyassa Lakes was proved by Dr Livingstone’s second expedition and by the excellent paper ‘on the probable ultimate sources of the Nile’ (Mr Alexander Geo. Findlay, F.R.G.S., read June 3, 1867). The latter showed that no considerable stream draining an area of at least 3000 square British miles, or a country as large as England and France combined, enters Nyassa from the north. Since that time Dr Livingstone has placed (Letters to Dr Kirk, July 8, 1868, and to the Earl of Clarendon, July, 1868) the Nile sources between S. lat. 10° and 12°, north of the great Serra Muxinga of the Portuguese travellers Lacerda, Monteiro, and Gamitto, nearly in the position assigned to them by Ptolemy uncorrected for latitude.^[55] About 400 miles south of the southernmost extremity of the Nyanza or Northern Lake, he finds ‘not one source, but upwards of 20 of them,’ and he is under the impression that he had stood on the water-shed between the Zambeze and either the Congo or the Nile. Mr Keith Johnston jun.’s excellent paper^[56] shows that the Serra Muxinga, of which more presently, may represent that portion of the Rocky Mountains which send forth the Missouri, the Columbia, and the Colorado. And he apparently would drain the northern fall to the Congo river, whereas in the Mittheilungen it takes the direction of the Albert Nyassa, and the labours of Capt. George, R.N., would throw the water into the Tanganyika.

Thus the theory of the southern effluent lost favour, and that which made the Rusizi a northern influent soon shared the same fate. In 1863 Capt. Speke converted it into a lake or a ‘broad,’ of which he had heard the year before, lying between the Tanganyika and the Luta Nzige, Mwutan or Albert Nyassa. Presently Sir Samuel Baker (1864) caused the southern extremity of the Luta Nzige, which he placed 2200 feet above sea-level, to over-lap the Rusizi. ‘I therefore claim,’ concludes Mr Findlay, ‘for Lake Tanganyika the honour of being the Southernmost Reservoir of the Nile until some more positive evidence, by actual observation, shall otherwise determine it.’

To this view the geographical public offered two objections. The first was that the northern end of the Tanganyika is encircled by the ‘concave of the Mountains of the Moon.’ This was easily removed, as the reader of these pages will see, by a collation of the several maps forwarded by the Expedition from the interior. The first, bearing date May, 1858, was sent from Kazeh on July 2, 1858: it showed the results of our discovery (in February, 1858) and of the information supplied to me by narratio obliqua through the Arabs and Africans of Unyanyembe. Having no theory to support, it laid down, what we saw or thought we saw, an open longitudinal valley running northwards from the Tanganyika Lake. But that which my companion brought home in June, 1859, bore signs of great change, especially in a confused mass of mountains completely investing the northern third of the long narrow crevasse: this by degrees resolved itself into a huge horseshoe, which was incontinently dubbed the ‘Mountains of the Moon, about 6000 feet.’ In his second expedition (Journal, p. 263) Capt. Speke declares that the range had been laid down ‘solely on scientific geographical reasons,’ in fact, out of the depths of his self-consciousness, and he supplemented it with a Lake Rusizi. I saw it growing up under his hands, as copy followed copy: I repeatedly objected to it, yet it managed to deform the maps of Central Africa for years afterwards. It threw us once more back into the romantic geography of the Arabs, who wove into one line Jebel Kumri, and transferred north of the equator the scattered ranges which Ptolemy (iv. 9) disposed at the antarctic end of his habitable Africa. These, going from east to west, are represented by Barditon Oros (S. lat. 16°) Meskhe or Ineskki, the Region of Agysimba (S. lat. 13°), Xipha or Ziphar (S. lat. 8° 20′ 5″), Daukhis Oros (S. lat. 13°), and Ion, the mountain of the Hesperian Æthiopians (S. lat. 8° 20′ 5″).

The second objection was the elevation of the Tanganyika Lake. Its low level in the great central plateau proved, however, to be a mere mistake: only one observation was made, and that gave but 1844 feet above the sea. But presently Mr Findlay found a pencil memorandum by Capt. Speke, showing that when he again reached the coast our thermometer, a common bath instrument, used because all the others had been broken, boiled at 214° (F.) instead of 212° (F.). Moreover, the observations of Sir Samuel Baker, carefully compared with those of the second expedition, decisively proved that 1000 feet must be added, placing the Tanganyika and the Nyanza on nearly the same level. Again, Dr Livingstone reports from Bangweolo (July, 1868) of the Liemba Lake, that he would have set it down as an arm of the Tanganyika, but that its surface is 2800 feet above sea-level, ‘while Speke makes it 1844 only.’ Finally, the great African traveller, who has now been long resident in the regions west of the Tanganyika Lake, always writes of it as if he considered the connection between it and the Luta Nzige established. Thus the altitude of Lake Tanganyika was raised to 2800 feet, which would easily carry its waters to the Nile. ‘It may appear strange,’ as Mr Galton has remarked, ‘that there should be an error of a thousand feet of altitude suspected in the observations of an explorer, but the method of operating in uncivilized countries is quite different from that employed at home.’ Evidently Capt. Speke allowed the altitude of the lake to lie uncorrected for the same reason which made him raise his ‘Lunæ montes.’ This will also answer M. Parthey (June 2, 1864, Royal Academy of Sciences, Berlin).

A few words concerning the Moon Mountain, in which are the Ptolemeian Nile sources. It is placed in S. lat. 12° 30′, which, by applying the reduction as before proposed, we should convert to S. lat. 6° 30′, and between East long. 57° and 67°, which, if taken from S. Antonio (Antão), as the late Mr Hogg suggested, would be = E. long. G. 30° to 40.° Its northern slope drains to the lake under the parallels of S. lat. 6° and 7°, and separated by about 8° of meridional distance. In many maps is added a third, or equatorial lake, which may be the Baharingo, or Baringo, and indeed in chap. xvii. (lib. i.) we find a plural form τὰς λίμνας, possibly showing a knowledge of two large and sundry smaller features. The great Unyamwezi Upland, using the name at its fullest extent, is bounded both north and south by huge latitudinal blocks and chains of mountains. The equatorial is the Highland of Karagwah, extending eastward to the Æthiopic Olympus Kilima-njaro. The southern, corresponding with Ptolemy’s parallels, is the great chain and plateau, whose apex is the Serra Muxinga or Muchingwe, named by the explorer Dr de Lacerda Cordelheira Antonina, in honour of his prince. Lying in about S. lat. 12°, this feature, ranging from 3000 to 6000 feet high, may evidently be the divide of the Nile, the Congo, and Zambezean basins; whilst the north-eastern projection feeds with four considerable streams the Lake Liemba, discovered by Dr Livingstone on April 2, 1867, and supposed to connect with the Tanganyika by the River Marungu. The altitude of the Serra was estimated in 1831 by Messrs Monteiro and Gamitto at a Portuguese league (= about 19,700 feet) above sea-level, palpably exaggerated, as in winter (August 10) neither ice nor snow was found upon it. They describe the head as nearly always enveloped in clouds, and as by far the loftiest summit in that part of Africa; the profile rises steeply and abruptly from the table-land, commanding an extensive prospect northward, and the ridge is broken by terrible and dangerous precipices. Snow in this part of the continent may be alluded to by João de Barros, who declares that in the Matouca country, though situated between the equator and the tropic of Capricorn, the natives die of cold. Later Portuguese historians declare the Lupata to be a snowy range, probably referring, not to the gorge of that name, but to the great block with which it is connected. Dr Livingstone represents this, his latest discovery, to cover a space south of the Tanganyika some 350 miles square, dotted with lakes, and traversed on the eastern side by the River Chambeze, which was first mentioned by Dr de Lacerda, and which has hitherto been confounded with the Zambeze. The Greek term ‘Mountain of the Moon’ may, I have already suggested, be derived from ‘Unyamwezi,’ an empire whose position between the Tanganyika and the Nyanza group is laid down in the map of Duarte Lopez (A. D. 1578–1587). The name of this extensive region is still contracted upon the coast to Mwezi, meaning the Moon, and thus we might translate Ptolemy, Mountain of Unyamwezi. Similarly, the ancients derived the Erythrean Sea from the Sea of Edom and of Himyar, both signifying Red: Diascorias was a corruption of Dwipa Sokotra, and, to quote no more, Dr Beke has shown how the Ptolemeian Iabadíou (Java-dwipa) became Barley Island without growing barley.^[57]

Finally, if we reject Unyamwezi and Muxinga as the original Lunar Mountains, we must seek the latter with Dr Beke in the icy peaks of the Æthiopic Olympus, prolonged to the Highlands of Karagwah.

A longer delay at Uvira than we had intended greatly improved my health: the state of our finances, however, compelled us to set out without delay from Ujiji to Kazeh. The rains had ceased on May 15, and the return (June 11) by a straighter and more southerly road, was far less unpleasant than the up-march. After a short interval for repose, and for recovering his sight and hearing, Capt. Speke volunteered to explore a lake reported to lie north, and known to the Arabs as ‘Ukerewe,’ or Island-land. I had heard of it in Zanzibar Island as a water called ‘Karagoa,’ parallel with and one month west of the Sea of Ujiji. A signal disappointment at the ‘Ziwa’^[58] of Ugogo, which proved to be a mere pond, made me suspect the informants: yet Snay bin Amir and Musa Mzuri had both visited the mountain regions to its west, and their observations were represented in the sketch map, 1858, which, I repeat, is far less incorrect than the exaggerated growth of 1859.^[59] I was, however, delighted with the prospect of a month’s leisure for inquiry amongst the intelligent Arabs. It was also necessary to copy out notes, which ill health had left in confusion, and to learn something about the southern as well as the northern regions. Moreover, if truth must be told, I sighed for the