Having arrived at the khambi, which always surrounds some great baobab in Ugogo, at the distance of about half a mile from the tembe of the Sultan, the Wagogo pressed in such great numbers to the camp that Sheikh Thani resolved to make an effort to stop or mitigate the nuisance. Dressing himself in his best clothes, he went to appeal to the Sultan for protection against his people. The Sultan was very much inebriated, and was pleased to say, "What is it you want, you thief? You have come to steal my ivory or my cloth. Go away, thief!" But the sensible chief, whose voice had just been heard reproaching the people for their treatment of the Wasungu, beckoned to Thani to come out of the tembe, and then proceeded with him towards the khambi.

The camp was in a great uproar; the curious Wagogo monopolized almost every foot of ground; there was no room to turn anywhere. The Wanyamwezi were quarreling with the Wagogo, the Wasawahili servants were clamoring loud that the Wagogo pressed down their tents, and that the property of the masters was in danger; while I, busy on my diary within my tent, cared not how great was the noise and confusion outside as long as it confined itself to the Wagogo, Wanyamwezi, and Wangwana.

The presence of the chief in the camp was followed by a deep silence that I was prevailed upon to go outside to see what had caused it. The chief's words were few, and to the point. He said, "To your tembes, Wagogo—to your tembes! Why, do you come to trouble the Wakonongo: What have you to do with them? To your tembes: go! Each Mgogo found in the khambi without meal, without cattle to sell, shall pay to the mtemi cloth or cows. Away with you!" Saying which, he snatched up a stick and drove the hundreds out of the khambi, who were as obedient to him as so many children. During the two days we halted at Mukondoku we saw no more of the mob, and there was peace.

The muhongo of the Sultan Swaruru was settled with few words. The chief who acted for the Sultan as his prime minister having been "made glad" with a doti of Rehani Ulyah from me, accepted the usual tribute of six doti, only one of which was of first-class cloth.

There remained but one more sultan to whom muhongo must be paid after Mukondoku, and this was the Sultan of Kiwyeh, whose reputation was so bad that owners of property who had control over their pagazis seldom passed by Kiwyeh, preferring the hardships of long marches through the wilderness to the rudeness and exorbitant demands of the chief of Kiwyeh. But the pagazis, on whom no burden or responsibility fell save that of carrying their loads, who could use their legs and show clean heels in the case of a hostile outbreak, preferred the march to Kiwyeh to enduring thirst and the fatigue of a terekeza. Often the preference of the pagazis won the day, when their employers were timid, irresolute men, like Sheikh Hamed.

The 7th of June was the day fixed for our departure from Mukondoku, so the day before, the Arabs came to my tent to counsel with me as to the route we should adopt. On calling together the kirangozis of the respective caravans and veteran Wanyamwezi pagazis, we learned there were three roads leading from Mukondoku to Uyanzi. The first was the southern road, and the one generally adopted, for the reasons already stated, and led by Kiwyeh. To this Hamed raised objections. "The Sultan was bad," he said; "he sometimes charged a caravan twenty doti; our caravan would have to pay about sixty doti. The Kiwyeh road would not do at all. Besides," he added, "we have to make a terekeza to reach Kiwyeh, and then we will not reach it before the day after to-morrow." The second was the central road. We should arrive at Munieka on the morrow; the day after would be a terekeza from Mabunguru Nullah to a camp near Unyambogi; two hours the next day would bring us to Kiti, where there was plenty of water and food. As neither of the kirangozis or Arabs knew this road, and its description came from one of my ancient pagazis, Hamed said he did not like to trust the guidance of such a large caravan in the hands of an old Mnyamwezi, and would therefore prefer to hear about the third road, before rendering his decision. The third road was the northern. It led past numerous villages of the Wagogo for the first two hours; then we should strike a jungle; and a three hours' march would then bring us to Simbo, where there was water, but no village. Starting early next morning, we would travel six hours when we would arrive at a pool of water. Here taking a short rest, an afternoon march of five hours would bring us within three hours of another village. As this last road was known to many, Hamed said, "Sheikh Thani, tell the Sahib that I think this is the best road." Sheikh Thani was told, after he had informed me that, as I had marched with them through Ugogo, if they decided upon going by Simbo, my caravan would follow.

Immediately after the discussion among the principals respecting the merits of the several routes, arose a discussion among the pagazis which resulted in an obstinate clamor against the Simbo road, for its long terekeza and scant prospects of water, the dislike to the Simbo road communicated itself to all the caravans, and soon it was magnified by reports of a wilderness reaching from Simbo to Kusuri, where there was neither food nor water to be obtained. Hamed's pagazis, and those of the Arab servants, rose in a body and declared they could not go on that march, and if Hamed insisted upon adopting it they would put their packs down and leave him to carry them himself.

Hamed Kimiani, as he was styled by the Arabs, rushed up to Sheikh Thani, and declared that he must take the Kiwyeh road, otherwise his pagazis would all desert. Thani replied that all the roads were the same to him, that wherever Hamed chose to go, he would follow. They then came to my tent, and informed me of the determination at which the Wanyamwezi had arrived. Calling my veteran Mnyamwezi, who had given me the favourable report once more to my tent, I bade him give a correct account of the Kiti road. It was so favourable that my reply to Hamed was, that I was the master of my caravan, that it was to go wherever I told the kirangozi, not where the pagazis chose; that when I told them to halt they must halt, and when I commanded a march, a march should be made; and that as I fed them well and did not overwork them, I should like to see the pagazi or soldier that disobeyed me. "You made up your mind just now that you would take the Simbo road, and we were agreed upon it, now your pagazis say they will take, the Kiwyeh road, or desert. Go on the Kiwyeh road and pay twenty doti muhongo. I and my caravan to-morrow morning will take the Kiti road, and when you find me in Unyanyembe one day ahead of you, you will be sorry you did not take the same road."

This resolution of mine had the effect of again changing the current of Hamed's thoughts, for he instantly said, "That is the best road after all, and as the Sahib is determined to go on it, and we have all travelled together through the bad land of the Wagogo, Inshallah! let us all go the same way," and Thani=-good old man—not objecting, and Hamed having decided, they both joyfully went out of the tent to communicate the news.

On the 7th the caravans—apparently unanimous that the Kiti road was to be taken—were led as usual by Hamed's kirangozi. We had barely gone a mile before I perceived that we had left the Simbo road, had taken the direction of Kiti, and, by a cunning detour, were now fast approaching the defile of the mountain ridge before us, which admitted access to the higher plateau of Kiwyeh. Instantly halting my caravan, I summoned the veteran who had travelled by Kiti, and asked him whether we were not going towards Kiwyeh. He replied that we were. Calling my pagazis together, I bade Bombay tell them that the Musuugu never changed his mind; that as I had said my caravan should march by Kiti; to Kiti it must go whether the Arabs followed or not. I then ordered the veteran to take up his load and show the kirangozi the proper road to Kiti. The Wanyamwezi pagazis put down their bales, and then there was every indication of a mutiny. The Wangwana soldiers were next ordered to load their guns and to flank the caravan, and shoot the first pagazis who made an attempt to run away. Dismounting, I seized my whip, and, advancing towards the first pagazi who had put down his load, I motioned to him to take up his load and march. It was unnecessary to proceed further; without an exception, all marched away obediently after the kirangozi. I was about bidding farewell to Thani, and Hamed, when Thani said, "Stop a bit, Sahib; I have had enough of this child's play; I come with you," and his caravan was turned after mine. Hamed's caravan was by this time close to the defile, and he himself was a full mile behind it, weeping like a child at what he was pleased to call our desertion of him. Pitying his strait—for he was almost beside himself as thoughts of Kiwyeh's sultan, his extortion and rudeness, swept across his mind—I advised him to run after his caravan, and tell it, as all the rest had taken the other road, to think of the Sultan of Kiwyeh. Before reaching the Kiti defile I was aware that Hamed's caravan was following us.

The ascent of the ridge was rugged and steep, thorns of the prickliest nature punished us severely, the acacia horrida was here more horrid than usual, the gums stretched out their branches, and entangled the loads, the mimosa with its umbrella-like top served to shade us from the sun, but impeded a rapid advance. Steep outcrops of syenite and granite, worn smooth by many feet, had to be climbed over, rugged terraces of earth and rock had to be ascended, and distant shots resounding through the forest added to the alarm and general discontent, and had I not been immediately behind my caravan, watchful of every manoeuvre, my Wanyamwezi had deserted to a man. Though the height we ascended was barely 800 feet above the salina we had just left, the ascent occupied two hours.

Having surmounted the plateau and the worst difficulties, we had a fair road comparatively, which ran through jungle, forest, and small open tracts, which in three hours more brought us to Munieka, a small village, surrounded by a clearing richly cultivated by a colony of subjects of Swaruru of Mukondoku.

By the time we had arrived at camp everybody had recovered his good humour and content except Hamed. Thani's men happened to set his tent too close to Hamed's tree, around which his bales were stacked. Whether the little Sheikh imagined honest old Thani capable of stealing one is not known, but it is certain that he stormed and raved about the near neighbourhood of his best friend's tent, until Thani ordered its removal a hundred yards off. This proceeding even, it seems, did not satisfy Hamed, for it was quite midnight—as Thani said—when Hamed came, and kissing his hands and feet, on his knees implored forgiveness, which of course Thani, being the soul of good-nature, and as large-hearted as any man, willingly gave. Hamed was not satisfied, however, until, with the aid of his slaves, he had transported his friend's tent to where it had at first been pitched.

The water at Munieka was obtained from a deep depression in a hump of syenite, and was as clear as crystal, and' cold as ice-water—a luxury we had not experienced since leaving Simbamwenni.

We were now on the borders of Uyanzi, or, as it is better known, "Magunda Mkali "—the Hot-ground, or Hot-field. We had passed the village populated by Wagogo, and were about to shake the dust of Ugogo from our feet. We had entered Ugogo full of hopes, believing it a most pleasant land—a land flowing with milk and honey. We had been grievously disappointed; it proved to be a land of gall and bitterness, full of trouble and vexation of spirit, where danger was imminent at every step—where we were exposed to the caprice of inebriated sultans. Is it a wonder, then, that all felt happy at such a moment? With the prospect before us of what was believed by many to be a real wilderness, our ardor was not abated, but was rather strengthened. The wilderness in Africa proves to be, in many instances, more friendly than the populated country. The kirangozi blew his kudu horn much more merrily on this morning than he was accustomed to do while in Ugogo. We were about to enter Magunda Mkali. At 9 A.M., three hours after leaving Munieka, and two hours since we had left the extreme limits of Ugogo, we were halted at Mabunguru Nullah. The Nullah runs southwesterly after leaving its source in the chain of hills dividing Ugogo from Magunda Mkali. During the rainy season it must be nearly impassable, owing to the excessive slope of its bed. Traces of the force of the torrent are seen in the syenite and basalt boulders which encumber the course. Their rugged angles are worn smooth, and deep basins are excavated where the bed is of the rock, which in the dry season serve as reservoirs. Though the water contained in them has a slimy and greenish appearance, and is well populated with frogs, it is by no means unpalatable.

At noon we resumed our march, the Wanyamwezi cheering, shouting, and singing, the Wangwana soldiers, servants, and pagazis vieing with them in volume of voice and noise-making the dim forest through which we were now passing resonant with their voices.

The scenery was much more picturesque than any we had yet seen since leaving Bagamoyo. The ground rose into grander waves—hills cropped out here and there—great castles of syenite appeared, giving a strange and weird appearance to the forest. From a distance it would almost seem as if we were approaching a bit of England as it must have appeared during feudalism; the rocks assumed such strange fantastic shapes. Now they were round boulders raised one above another, apparently susceptible to every breath of wind; anon, they towered like blunt-pointed obelisks, taller than the tallest trees; again they assumed the shape of mighty waves, vitrified; here, they were a small heap of fractured and riven rock; there, they rose to the grandeur of hills.

By 5 P.M. we had travelled twenty miles, and the signal was sounded for a halt. At 1 A.M., the moon being up, Hamed's horn and voice were heard throughout the silent camp awaking his pagazis for the march. Evidently Sheikh Hamed was gone stark mad, otherwise why should he be so frantic for the march at such an early hour? The dew was falling heavily, and chilled one like frost; and an ominous murmur of deep discontent responded to the early call on all sides. Presuming, however, that he had obtained better information than we had, Sheikh Thani and I resolved to be governed as the events proved him to be right or wrong.

As all were discontented, this night, march was performed in deep silence. The thermometer was at 53, we being about 4,500 feet above the level of the sea. The pagazis, almost naked, walked quickly in order to keep warm, and by so doing many a sore foot was made by stumbling against obtrusive roots and rocks, and treading on thorns. At 3 A.M. we arrived at the village of Unyambogi, where we threw ourselves down to rest and sleep until dawn should reveal what else was in store for the hard-dealt-with caravans.

It was broad daylight when I awoke; the sun was flaring his hot beams in my face. Sheikh Thani came soon after to inform me that Hamed had gone to Kiti two hours since; but he, when asked to accompany him, positively refused, exclaiming against it as folly, and utterly unnecessary. When my advice was asked by Thani, I voted the whole thing as sheer nonsense; and, in turn, asked him what a terekeza was for? Was it not an afternoon march to enable caravans to reach water and food? Thani replied than it was. I then asked him if there was no water or food to be obtained in Unyambogi. Thani replied that he had not taken pains to inquire, but was told by the villagers that there was an abundance of matamia, hindi, maweri, sheep; goats, and chickens in their village at cheap prices, such as were not known in Ugogo.

"Well, then," said I, "if Hamed wants to be a fool, and kill his pagazis, why should we? I have as much cause for haste as Sheikh Hamed; but Unyanyembe is far yet, and I am not going to endanger my property by playing the madman."

As Thani had reported, we found an abundance of provisions at the village, and good sweet water from some pits close by. A sheep cost one chukka; six chickens were also purchased at that price; six measures of matama, maweri, or hindi, were procurable for the same sum; in short, we were coming, at last, into the land of plenty.

On the 10th June we arrived at Kiti after a journey of four hours and a half, where we found the irrepressible Hamed halted in sore trouble. He who would be a Caesar, proved to be an irresolute Antony. He had to sorrow over the death of a favourite slave girl, the loss of five dish-dashes (Arab shirts), silvered-sleeve and gold-embroidered jackets, with which he had thought to enter Unyanyembe in state, as became a merchant of his standing, which had disappeared with three absconding servants, besides copper trays, rice, and pilau dishes, and two bales of cloth with runaway Wangwana pagazis. Selim, my Arab servant, asked him, "What are you doing here, Sheikh Hamed? I thought you were well on the road to Unyanyembe." Said he, "Could I leave Thani, my friend, behind?"

Kiti abounded in cattle and grain, and we were able to obtain food at easy rates. The Wakimbu, emigrants from Ukimbu, near Urori, are a quiet race, preferring the peaceful arts of agriculture to war; of tending their flocks to conquest. At the least rumor of war they remove their property and family, and emigrate to the distant wilderness, where they begin to clear the land, and to hunt the elephant for his ivory. Yet we found them to be a fine race, and well armed, and seemingly capable, by their numbers and arms, to compete with any tribe. But here, as elsewhere, disunion makes them weak. They are mere small colonies, each colony ruled by its own chief; whereas, were they united, they might make a very respectable front before an enemy.

Our next destination was Msalalo, distant fifteen miles from Kiti. Hamed, after vainly searching for his runaways and the valuable property he had lost, followed us, and tried once more, when he saw us encamped at Msalalo, to pass us; but his pagazis failed him, the march having been so long.

Welled Ngaraiso was reached on the 15th, after a three and a half hours' march. It is a flourishing little place, where provisions were almost twice as cheap as they were at Unyambogi. Two hours' march south is Jiweh la Mkoa, on the old road, towards which the road which we have been travelling since leaving Bagamoyo was now rapidly leading.

Unyanyembe being near, the pagazis and soldiers having behaved excellently during the lengthy marches we had lately made, I purchased a bullock for three doti, and had it slaughtered for their special benefit. I also gave each a khete of red beads to indulge his appetite for whatever little luxury the country afforded. Milk and honey were plentiful, and three frasilah of sweet potatoes were bought for a shukka, equal to about 40 cents of our money.

The 13th June brought us to the last village of Magunda Mkali, in the district of Jiweh la Singa, after a short march of eight miles and three-quarters. Kusuri—so called by the Arabs—is called Konsuli by the Wakimbu who inhabit it. This is, however, but one instance out of many where the Arabs have misnamed or corrupted the native names of villages and districts.

Between Ngaraiso and Kusuri we passed the village of Kirurumo, now a thriving place, with many a thriving village near it. As we passed it, the people came out to greet the Musungu, whose advent had been so long heralded by his loud-mouthed caravans, and whose soldiers had helped them win the day in a battle against their fractious brothers of Jiweh la Mkoa.

A little further on we came across a large khambi, occupied by Sultan bin Mohammed, an Omani Arab of high descent, who, as soon as he was notified of my approach, came out to welcome me, and invite me to his khambi. As his harem lodged in his tent, of course I was not invited thither; but a carpet outside was ready for his visitor. After the usual questions had been asked about my health, the news of the road, the latest from Zanzibar and Oman, he asked me if I had much cloth with me. This was a question often asked by owners of down caravans, and the reason of it is that the Arabs, in their anxiety to make as much as possible of their cloth at the ivory ports on the Tanganika and elsewhere, are liable to forget that they should retain a portion for the down marches. As, indeed, I had but a bale left of the quantity of cloth retained for provisioning my party on the road, when outfitting my caravans on the coast, I could unblushingly reply in the negative.

I halted a day at Kusuri to give my caravan a rest, after its long series of marches, before venturing on the two days' march through the uninhabited wilderness that separates the district of Jiweh la Singa Uyanzi from the district of Tura in Unyanyembe. Hamed preceded, promising to give Sayd bin Salim notice of my coming, and to request him to provide a tembe for me.

On the 15th, having ascertained that Sheikh Thani would be detained several days at Kusuri, owing to the excessive number of his people who were laid up with that dreadful plague of East Africa, the small-pox, I bade him farewell, and my caravan struck out of Kusuri once more for the wilderness and the jungle. A little before noon we halted at the Khambi of Mgongo Tembo, or the Elephant's Back—so called from a wave of rock whose back, stained into dark brownness by atmospheric influences, is supposed by the natives to resemble the blue-brown back of this monster of the forest. My caravan had quite an argument with me here, as to whether we should make the terekeza on this day or on the next. The majority was of the opinion that the next day would be the best for a terekeza; but I, being the "bana," consulting my own interests, insisted, not without a flourish or two of my whip, that the terekeza should be made on this day.

Mgongo Tembo, when Burton and Speke passed by, was a promising settlement, cultivating many a fair acre of ground. But two years ago war broke out, for some bold act of its people upon caravans, and the Arabs came from Unyanyembe with their Wangwana servants, attacked them, burnt the villages, and laid waste the work of years. Since that time Mgongo Tembo has been but blackened wrecks of houses, and the fields a sprouting jungle.

A cluster of date palm-trees, overtopping a dense grove close to the mtoni of Mgongo Tembo, revived my recollections of Egypt. The banks of the stream, with their verdant foliage, presented a strange contrast to the brown and dry appearance of the jungle which lay on either side.

At 1 P.M. we resumed our loads and walking staffs, and in a short time were en route for the Ngwhalah Mtoni, distant eight and three-quarter miles from the khambi. The sun was hot; like a globe of living, seething flame, it flared its heat full on our heads; then as it descended towards the west, scorched the air before it was inhaled by the lungs which craved it. Gourds of water were emptied speedily to quench the fierce heat that burned the throat and lungs. One pagazi, stricken heavily with the small-pox, succumbed, and threw himself down on the roadside to die. We never saw him afterwards, for the progress of a caravan on a terekeza, is something like that of a ship in a hurricane. The caravan must proceed—woe befall him who lags behind, for hunger and thirst will overtake him—so must a ship drive before the fierce gale to escape foundering—woe befall him who falls overboard!

An abundance of water, good, sweet, and cool, was found in the bed of the mtoni in deep stony reservoirs. Here also the traces of furious torrents were clearly visible as at Mabunguru.

The Nghwhalah commences in Ubanarama to the north—a country famous for its fine breed of donkeys—and after running south, south-south-west, crosses the Unyanyembe road, from which point it has more of a westerly turn.

On the 16th we arrived at Madedita, so called from a village which was, but is now no more. Madedita is twelve and a half miles from the Nghwhalah Mtoni. A pool of good water a few hundred yards from the roadside is the only supply caravans can obtain, nearer than Tura in Unyamwezi. The tsetse or chufwa-fly, as called by the Wasawahili, stung us dreadfully, which is a sign that large game visit the pool sometimes, but must not be mistaken for an indication that there is any in the immediate neighbourhood of the water. A single pool so often frequented by passing caravans, which must of necessity halt here, could not be often visited by the animals of the forest, who are shy in this part of Africa of the haunts of man.

At dawn the neat day we were on the road striding at a quicker pace than on most days, since we were about to quit Magunda Mali for the more populated and better land of Unyamwezi. The forest held its own for a wearisomely long time, but at the end of two hours it thinned, then dwarfed into low jungle, and finally vanished altogether, and we had arrived on the soil of Unyamwezi, with a broad plain, swelling, subsiding, and receding in lengthy and grand undulations in our front to one indefinite horizontal line which purpled in the far distance. The view consisted of fields of grain ripening, which followed the contour of the plain, and which rustled merrily before the morning breeze that came laden with the chills of Usagara.

At 8 A.M. we had arrived at the frontier village of Unyamwezi, Eastern Tura, which we invaded without any regard to the disposition of the few inhabitants who lived there. Here we found Nondo, a runaway of Speke's, one of those who had sided with Baraka against Bombay, who, desiring to engage himself with me, was engaging enough to furnish honey and sherbet to his former companions, and lastly to the pagazis. It was only a short breathing pause we made here, having another hour's march to reach Central Tura.

The road from Eastern Tura led through vast fields of millet, Indian corn, holcus sorghum, maweri, or panicum, or bajri, as called by the Arabs; gardens of sweet potatoes, large tracts of cucumbers, water-melons, mush-melons, and pea-nuts which grew in the deep furrows between the ridges of the holcus.

Some broad-leafed plantain plants were also seen in the neighbourhood of the villages, which as we advanced became very numerous. The villages of the Wakimbu are like those of the Wagogo, square, flat-roofed, enclosing an open area, which is sometimes divided into three or four parts by fences or matama stalks.

At central Tura, where we encamped, we had evidence enough of the rascality of the Wakimbu of Tura. Hamed, who, despite his efforts to reach Unyanyembe in time to sell his cloths before other Arabs came with cloth supplies, was unable to compel his pagazis to the double march every day, was also encamped at Central Tura, together with the Arab servants who preferred Hamed's imbecile haste to Thani's cautious advance. Our first night in Unyamwezi was very exciting indeed. The Musungu's camp was visited by two crawling thieves, but they were soon made aware by the portentous click of a trigger that the white man's camp was well guarded.

Hamed's camp was next visited; but here also the restlessness of the owner frustrated their attempts, for he was pacing backwards and forwards through his camp, with a loaded gun in his hand; and the thieves were obliged to relinquish the chance of stealing any of his bales. From Hamed's they proceeded to Hassan's camp (one of the Arab servants), where they were successful enough to reach and lay hold of a couple of bales; but, unfortunately, they made a noise, which awoke the vigilant and quick-eared slave, who snatched his loaded musket, and in a moment had shot one of them through the heart. Such were our experiences of the Wakimbu of Tura.

On the 18th the three caravans, Hamed's, Hassan's, and my own, left Tura by a road which zig-zagged towards all points through the tall matama fields. In an hour's time we had passed Tura Perro, or Western Tura, and had entered the forest again, whence the Wakimbu of Tura obtain their honey, and where they excavate deep traps for the elephants with which the forest is said to abound. An hour's march from Western Tura brought us to a ziwa, or pond. There were two, situated in the midst of a small open mbuga, or plain, which, even at this late season, was yet soft from the water which overflows it during the rainy season. After resting three hours, we started on the terekeza, or afternoon march.

It was one and the same forest that we had entered soon after leaving Western Tura, that we travelled through until we reached the Kwala Mtoni, or, as Burton has misnamed it on his map, "Kwale." The water of this mtoni is contained in large ponds, or deep depressions in the wide and crooked gully of Kwala. In these ponds a species of mud-fish, was found, off one of which I made a meal, by no means to be despised by one who had not tasted fish since leaving Bagamoyo. Probably, if I had my choice, being, when occasion demands it, rather fastidious in my tastes, I would not select the mud-fish.

From Tura to the Kwala Mtoni is seventeen and a half miles, a distance which, however easy it may be traversed once a fortnight, assumes a prodigious length when one has to travel it almost every other day, at least, so my pagazis, soldiers, and followers found it, and their murmurs were very loud when I ordered the signal to be sounded on the march. Abdul Kader, the tailor who had attached himself to me, as a man ready-handed at all things, from mending a pair of pants, making a delicate entremets, or shooting an elephant, but whom the interior proved to be the weakliest of the weakly, unfit for anything except eating and drinking—-almost succumbed on this march.

Long ago the little stock of goods which Abdul had brought from Zanzibar folded in a pocket-handkerchief, and with which he was about to buy ivory and slaves, and make his fortune in the famed land of Unyamwezi, had disappeared with the great eminent hopes he had built on them, like those of Alnaschar the unfortunate owner of crockery in the Arabian tale. He came to me as we prepared for the march, with a most dolorous tale about his approaching death, which he felt in his bones, and weary back: his legs would barely hold him up; in short, he had utterly collapsed—would I take mercy on him, and let him depart? The cause of this extraordinary request, so unlike the spirit with which he had left Zanzibar, eager to possess the ivory and slaves of Unyamwezi, was that on the last long march, two of my donkeys being dead, I had ordered that the two saddles which they had carried should be Abdul Kader's load to Unyanyembe. The weight of the saddles was 16 lbs., as the spring balance-scale indicated, yet Abdul Kader became weary of life, as, he counted the long marches that intervened between the mtoni and Unyanyembe. On the ground he fell prone, to kiss my feet, begging me in the name of God to permit him to depart.

As I had had some experience of Hindoos, Malabarese, and coolies in Abyssinia, I knew exactly how to deal with a case like this. Unhesitatingly I granted the request as soon as asked, for as much tired as Abdul Kader said he was of life, I was with Abdul Kader's worthlessness. But the Hindi did not want to be left in the jungle, he said, but, after arriving in Unyanyembe. "Oh," said I, "then you must reach Unyanyembe first; in the meanwhile you will carry those saddles there for the food which you must eat."

As the march to Rubuga was eighteen and three-quarter miles, the pagazis walked fast and long without resting.

Rubuga, in the days of Burton, according to his book, was a prosperous district. Even when we passed, the evidences of wealth and prosperity which it possessed formerly, were plain enough in the wide extent of its grain fields, which stretched to the right and left of the Unyanyembe road for many a mile. But they were only evidences of what once were numerous villages, a well- cultivated and populous district, rich in herds of cattle and stores of grain. All the villages are burnt down, the people have been driven north three or four days from Rubuga, the cattle were taken by force, the grain fields were left standing, to be overgrown with jungle and rank weeds. We passed village after village that had been burnt, and were mere blackened heaps of charred timber and smoked clay; field after field of grain ripe years ago was yet standing in the midst of a crop of gums and thorns, mimosa and kolquall.

We arrived at the village, occupied by about sixty Wangwana, who have settled here to make a living by buying and selling ivory. Food is provided for them in the deserted fields of the people of Rubuga. We were very tired and heated from the long march, but the pagazis had all arrived by 3 p.m.

At the Wangwana village we met Amer bin Sultan, the very type of an old Arab sheikh, such as we read of in books, with a snowy beard, and a clean reverend face, who was returning to Zanzibar after a ten years' residence in Unyanyembe. He presented me with a goat; and a goatskin full of rice; a most acceptable gift in a place where a goat costs five cloths.

After a day's halt at Rubuga, during which I despatched soldiers to notify Sheikh Sayd bin Salim and Sheikh bin Nasib, the two chief dignitaries of Unyanyembe, of my coming, on the 21st of June we resumed the march for Kigwa, distant five hours. The road ran through another forest similar to that which separated Tura from Rubuga, the country rapidly sloping as we proceeded westward. Kigwa we found to have been visited by the same vengeance which rendered Rubuga such a waste.

The next day, after a three and a half hours' rapid march, we crossed the mtoni—which was no mtoni—separating Kigwa from Unyanyembe district, and after a short halt to quench our thirst, in three and a half hours more arrived at Shiza. It was a most delightful march, though a long one, for its picturesqueness of scenery which every few minutes was revealed, and the proofs we everywhere saw of the peaceable and industrious disposition of the people. A short half hour from Shiza we beheld the undulating plain wherein the Arabs have chosen to situate the central depot which commands such wide and extensive field of trade. The lowing of cattle and the bleating of the goats and sheep were everywhere heard, giving the country a happy, pastoral aspect.

The Sultan of Shiza desired me to celebrate my arrival in Unyanyembe, with a five-gallon jar of pombe, which he brought for that purpose.

As the pombe was but stale ale in taste, and milk and water in colour, after drinking a small glassful I passed it to the delighted soldiers and pagazis. At my request the Sultan brought a fine fat bullock, for which he accepted four and a half doti of Merikani. The bullock was immediately slaughtered and served out to the caravan as a farewell feast.

No one slept much that night, and long before the dawn the fires were lit, and great steaks were broiling, that their stomachs might rejoice before parting with the Musungu, whose bounty they had so often tasted. Six rounds of powder were served to each soldier and pagazi who owned a gun, to fire away when we should be near the Arab houses. The meanest pagazi had his best cloth about his loins, and some were exceedingly brave in gorgeous Ulyah "Coombeesa Poonga" and crimson "Jawah," the glossy "Rehani," and the neat "Dabwani." The soldiers were mustered in new tarbooshes, and the long white shirts of the Mrima and the Island. For this was the great and happy day which had been on our tongues ever since quitting the coast, for which we had made those noted marches latterly—one hundred and seventy-eight and a half miles in sixteen days, including pauses—something over eleven miles a day

The signal sounded and the caravan was joyfully off with banners flying, and trumpets and horns blaring. A short two and a half hours' march brought us within sight of Kwikuru, which is about two miles south of Tabora, the main Arab town; on the outside of which we saw a long line of men in clean shirts, whereat we opened our charged batteries, and fired a volley of small arms such

as Kwikuru seldom heard before. The pagazis closed up and adopted the swagger of veterans: the soldiers blazed away uninterruptedly, while I, seeing that the Arabs were advancing towards me, left the ranks, and held out my hand, which was immediately grasped by Sheikh Sayd bin Salim, and then by about two dozen people, and thus our entre into Unyanyembe was effected.



CHAPTER VIII. MY LIFE AND TROUBLES DURING MY RESIDENCE IN UNYAS NYEMBE. I BECOME ENGAGED IN A WAR.

I received a noiseless ovation as I walked side by side with the governor, Sayd bin Salim, towards his tembe in Kwikuru, or the capital. The Wanyamwezi pagazis were out by hundreds, the warriors of Mkasiwa, the sultan, hovered around their chief, the children were seen between the legs of their parents, even infants, a few months old, slung over their mothers' backs, all paid the tribute due to my colour, with one grand concentrated stare. The only persons who talked with me were the Arabs, and aged Mkasiwa, ruler of Unyanyembe.

Sayd bin Salim's house was at the north-western corner of the inclosure, a stockaded boma of Kwikuru. We had tea made in a silver tea-pot, and a bountiful supply of "dampers" were smoking under a silver cover; and to this repast I was invited. When a man has walked eight miles or so without any breakfast, and a hot tropical sun has been shining on him for three or four hours, he is apt to do justice to a meal, especially if his appetite is healthy. I think I astonished the governor by the dexterous way in which I managed to consume eleven cups of his aromatic concoction of an Assam herb, and the easy effortless style with which I demolished his high tower of "slap jacks," that but a minute or so smoked hotly under their silver cover.

For the meal, I thanked the Sheikh, as only an earnest and sincerely hungry man, now satisfied, could thank him. Even if I had not spoken, my gratified looks had well informed him, under what obligations I had been laid to him.

Out came my pipe and tobacco-pouch.

"My friendly Sheikh, wilt thou smoke?"

"No, thanks! Arabs never smoke."

"Oh, if you don't, perhaps you would not object to me smoking, in order to assist digestion?"

"Ngema—good—go on, master."

Then began the questions, the gossipy, curious, serious, light questions:

"How came the master?

"By the Mpwapwa road."

"It is good. Was the Makata bad?"

"Very bad."

"What news from Zanzibar?"

"Good; Syed Toorkee has possession of Muscat, and Azim bin Ghis was slain in the streets."

"Is this true, Wallahi?" (by God.)

"It is true."

"Heh-heh-h! This is news!"—stroking his beard.

"Have you heard, master, of Suleiman bin Ali?"

"Yes, the Bombay governor sent him to Zanzibar, in a man-of-war, and Suleiman bin Ali now lies in the gurayza (fort)."

"Heh, that is very good."

"Did you have to pay much tribute to the Wagogo?"

"Eight times; Hamed Kimiani wished me to go by Kiwyeh, but I declined, and struck through the forest to Munieka. Hamed and Thani thought it better to follow me, than brave Kiwyeh by themselves."

"Where is that Hajji Abdullah (Captain Burton) that came here, and Spiki?" (Speke.)

"Hajji Abdullah! What Hajji Abdullah? Ah! Sheikh Burton we call him. Oh, he is a great man now; a balyuz (a consul) at El Scham" (Damascus.)

"Heh-heh; balyuz! Heh, at El Scham! Is not that near Betlem el Kuds?" (Jerusalem.)

"Yes, about four days. Spiki is dead. He shot himself by accident."

"Ah, ah, Wallah (by God), but this is bad news. Spiki dead? Mash-Allah! Ough, he was a good man—a good man! Dead!"

"But where is this Kazeh, Sheikh Sayd?"

Kazeh? Kazeh? I never heard the name before."

"But you were with Burton, and Speke, at Kazeh; you lived there several months, when you were all stopping in Unyanyembe; it must be close here; somewhere. Where did Hajji Abdullah and Spiki live when they were in Unyanyembe? Was it not in Musa Mzuri's house?"

"That was in Tabora."

"Well, then, where is Kazeh? I have never seen the man yet who could tell me where that place is, and yet the three white men have that word down, as the name of the place they lived at when you were with them. You must know where it is."

"Wallahi, bana, I never heard the name; but stop, Kazeh, in Kinyamwezi, means 'kingdom.' Perhaps they gave that name to the place they stopped at. But then, I used to call the first house Sny bin Amer's house, and Speke lived at Musa Mzuri's house, but both houses, as well as all the rest, are in Tabora."

"Thank you, sheikh. I should like to go and look after my people; they must all be wanting food."

"I shall go with you to show you your house. The tembe is in Kwihara, only an hour's walk from Tabora."

On leaving Kwikuru we crossed a low ridge, and soon saw Kwihara lying between two low ranges of hills, the northernmost of which was terminated westward by the round fortress-like hill of Zimbili. There was a cold glare of intense sunshine over the valley, probably the effect of an universal bleakness or an autumnal ripeness of the grass, unrelieved by any depth of colour to vary the universal sameness. The hills were bleached, or seemed to be, under that dazzling sunshine, and clearest atmosphere. The corn had long been cut, and there lay the stubble, and fields,—a browny- white expanse; the houses were of mud, and their fiat roofs were of mud, and the mud was of a browny-whiteness; the huts were thatched, and the stockades around them of barked timber, and these were of a browny whiteness. The cold, fierce, sickly wind from the mountains of Usagara sent a deadly chill to our very marrows, yet the intense sunshiny glare never changed, a black cow or two, or a tall tree here and there, caught the eye for a moment, but they never made one forget that the first impression of Kwihara was as of a picture without colour, or of food without taste; and if one looked up, there was a sky of a pale blue, spotless, and of an awful serenity.

As I approached the tembe of Sayd bin Salim, Sheikh bin Nasib and other great Arabs joined us. Before the great door of the tembe the men had stacked the bales, and piled the boxes, and were using their tongues at a furious rate, relating to the chiefs and soldiers of the first, second, and fourth caravans the many events which had befallen them, and which seemed to them the only things worth relating. Outside of their own limited circles they evidently cared for nothing. Then the several chiefs of the other caravans had in turn to relate their experiences of the road; and the noise of tongues was loud and furious. But as we approached, all this loud-sounding gabble ceased, and my caravan chiefs and guides rushed to me to hail me as "master," and to salute me as their friend. One fellow, faithful Baruti, threw himself at my feet, the others fired their guns and acted like madmen suddenly become frenzied, and a general cry of "welcome" was heard on all sides.

"Walk in, master, this is your house, now; here are your men's quarters; here you will receive the great Arabs, here is the cook-house; here is the store-house; here is the prison for the refractory; here are your white man's apartments; and these are your own: see, here is the bedroom, here is the gun-room, bath-room, &c.;" so Sheikh Sayd talked, as he showed me the several places.

On my honour, it was a most comfortable place, this, in Central Africa. One could almost wax poetic, but we will keep such ambitious ideas for a future day. Just now, however, we must have the goods stored, and the little army of carriers paid off and disbanded.

Bombay was ordered to unlock the strong store-room, to pile the bales in regular tiers, the beads in rows one above another, and the wire in a separate place. The boats, canvas, &c., were to be placed high above reach of white ants, and the boxes of ammunition and powder kegs were to be stored in the gun-room, out of reach of danger. Then a bale of cloth was opened, and each carrier was rewarded according to his merits, that each of them might proceed home to his friends and neighbours, and tell them how much better the white man behaved than the Arabs.

The reports of the leaders of the first, second, and fourth caravans were then received, their separate stores inspected, and the details and events of their marches heard. The first caravan had been engaged in a war at Kirurumo, and had come out of the fight successful, and had reached Unyanyembe without loss of anything. The second had shot a thief in the forest between Pembera Pereh and Kididimo; the fourth had lost a bale in the jungle of Marenga Mkali, and the porter who carried it had received a "very sore head" from a knob stick wielded by one of the thieves, who prowl about the jungle near the frontier of Ugogo. I was delighted to find that their misfortunes were no more, and each leader was then and there rewarded with one handsome cloth, and five doti of Merikani.

Just as I began to feel hungry again, came several slaves in succession, bearing trays full of good things from the Arabs; first an enormous dish of rice, with a bowlful of curried chicken, another with a dozen huge wheaten cakes, another with a plateful of smoking hot crullers, another with papaws, another with pomegranates and lemons; after these came men driving five fat hump backed oxen, eight sheep, and ten goats, and another man with a dozen chickens, and a dozen fresh eggs. This was real, practical, noble courtesy, munificent hospitality, which quite took my gratitude by storm.

My people, now reduced to twenty-five, were as delighted at the prodigal plenitude visible on my tables and in my yard, as I was myself. And as I saw their eyes light up at the unctuous anticipations presented to them by their riotous fancies, I ordered a bullock to be slaughtered and distributed.

The second day of the arrival of the Expedition in the country which I now looked upon as classic ground, since Capts. Burton, Speke, and Grant years ago had visited it, and described it, came the Arab magnates from Tabora to congratulate me.

Tabora* is the principal Arab settlement in Central Africa. It contains over a thousand huts and tembes, and one may safely estimate the population, Arabs, Wangwana, and natives, at five thousand people. Between Tabora and the next settlement, Kwihara, rise two rugged hill ridges, separated from each other by a low saddle, over the top of which Tabora is always visible from Kwihara. * There is no such recognised place as Kazeh.

They were a fine, handsome body of men, these Arabs. They mostly hailed from Oman: others were Wasawahili; and each of my visitors had quite a retinue with him. At Tabora they live quite luxuriously. The plain on which the settlement is situated is exceedingly fertile, though naked of trees; the rich pasturage it furnishes permits them to keep large herds of cattle and goats, from which they have an ample supply of milk, cream, butter, and ghee. Rice is grown everywhere; sweet potatoes, yams, muhogo, holcus sorghum, maize, or Indian corn, sesame, millet, field-peas, or vetches, called choroko, are cheap, and always procurable. Around their tembes the Arabs cultivate a little wheat for their own purposes, and have planted orange, lemon, papaw, and mangoes, which thrive here fairly well. Onions and garlic, chilies, cucumbers, tomatoes, and brinjalls, may be procured by the white visitor from the more important Arabs, who are undoubted epicureans in their way. Their slaves convey to them from the coast, once a year at least, their stores of tea, coffee sugar, spices, jellies, curries, wine, brandy, biscuits, sardines, salmon, and such fine cloths and articles as they require for their own personal use. Almost every Arab of any eminence is able to show a wealth of Persian carpets, and most luxurious bedding, complete tea and coffee-services, and magnificently carved dishes of tinned copper and brass lavers. Several of them sport gold watches and chains, mostly all a watch and chain of some kind. And, as in Persia, Afghanistan, and Turkey, the harems form an essential feature of every Arab's household; the sensualism of the Mohammedans is as prominent here as in the Orient.

The Arabs who now stood before the front door of my tembe were the donors of the good things received the day before. As in duty bound, of course, I greeted Sheikh Sayd first, then Sheikh bin Nasib, his Highness of Zanzibar's consul at Karagwa, then I greeted the noblest Trojan amongst the Arab population, noblest in bearing, noblest in courage and manly worth—Sheikh Khamis bin Abdullah; then young Amram bin Mussoud, who is now making war on the king of Urori and his fractious people; then handsome, courageous Soud, the son of Sayd bin Majid; then dandified Thani bin Abdullah; then Mussoud bin Abdullah and his cousin Abdullah bin Mussoud, who own the houses where formerly lived Burton and Speke; then old Suliman Dowa, Sayd bin Sayf, and the old Hetman of Tabora—Sheikh Sultan bin Ali.

As the visit of these magnates, under whose loving protection white travellers must needs submit themselves, was only a formal one, such as Arab etiquette, ever of the stateliest and truest, impelled them to, it is unnecessary to relate the discourse on my health, and their wealth, my thanks, and their professions of loyalty, and attachment to me. After having expended our mutual stock of congratulations and nonsense, they departed, having stated their wish that I should visit them at Tabora and partake of a feast which they were about to prepare for me.

Three days afterwards I sallied out of my tembe, escorted by eighteen bravely dressed men of my escort, to pay Tabora a visit. On surmounting the saddle over which the road from the valley of Kwihara leads to Tabora, the plain on which the Arab settlement is situated lay before us, one expanse of dun pasture land, stretching from the base bf the hill on our left as far as the banks of the northern Gombe, which a few miles beyond Tabora heave into purple-coloured hills and blue cones.

Within three-quarters of an hour we were seated on the mud veranda of the tembe of Sultan bin Ali, who, because of his age, his wealth, and position—being a colonel in Seyd Burghash's unlovely army—is looked upon by his countrymen, high and low, as referee and counsellor. His boma or enclosure contains quite a village of hive-shaped huts and square tembes. From here, after being presented with a cup of Mocha coffee, and some sherbet, we directed our steps towards Khamis bin Abdullah's house, who had, in anticipation of my coming, prepared a feast to which he had invited his friends and neighbours. The group of stately Arabs in their long white dresses, and jaunty caps, also of a snowy white, who stood ready to welcome me to Tabora, produced quite an effect on my mind. I was in time for a council of war they were holding—and I was,requested to attend.

Khamis bin Abdullah, a bold and brave man, ever ready to stand up for the privileges of the Arabs, and their rights to pass through any countries for legitimate trade, is the man who, in Speke's 'Journal of the Discovery of the Source of the Nile,' is reported to have shot Maula, an old chief who sided with Manwa Sera during the wars of 1860; and who subsequently, after chasing his relentless enemy for five years through Ugogo and Unyamwezi as far as Ukonongo, had the satisfaction of beheading him, was now urging the Arabs to assert their rights against a chief called Mirambo of Uyoweh, in a crisis which was advancing.

This Mirambo of Uyoweh, it seems, had for the last few years been in a state of chronic discontent with the policies of the neighbouring chiefs. Formerly a pagazi for an Arab, he had now assumed regal power, with the usual knack of unconscionable rascals who care not by what means they step into power. When the chief of Uyoweh died, Mirambo, who was head of a gang of robbers infesting the forests of Wilyankuru, suddenly entered Uyoweh, and constituted himself lord paramount by force. Some feats of enterprise, which he performed to the enrichment of all those who recognised his authority, established him firmly in his position. This was but a beginning; he carried war through Ugara to Ukonongo, through Usagozi to the borders of Uvinza, and after destroying the populations over three degrees of latitude, he conceived a grievance against Mkasiwa, and against the Arabs, because they would not sustain him in his ambitious projects against their ally and friend, with whom they were living in peace.

The first outrage which this audacious man committed against the Arabs was the halting of an Ujiji-bound caravan, and the demand for five kegs of gunpowder, five guns, and five bales of cloth. This extraordinary demand, after expending more than a day in fierce controversy, was paid; but the Arabs, if they were surprised at the exorbitant black-mail demanded of them, were more than ever surprised when they were told to return the way they came; and that no Arab caravan should pass through his country to Ujiji except over his dead body.

On the return of the unfortunate Arabs to Unyanyembe, they reported the facts to Sheikh Sayd bin Salim, the governor of the Arab colony. This old man, being averse to war, of course tried every means to induce Mirambo as of old to be satisfied with presents; but Mirambo this time was obdurate, and sternly determined on war unless the Arabs aided him in the warfare he was about to wage against old Mkasiwa, sultan of the Wanyamwezi of Unyanyembe.

"This is the status of affairs," said Khamis bin Abdullah. "Mirambo says that for years he has been engaged in war against the neighbouring Washensi and has come out of it victorious; he says this is a great year with him; that he is going to fight the Arabs, and the Wanyamwezi of Unyanyembe, and that he shall not stop until every Arab is driven from Unyanyembe, and he rules over this country in place of Mkasiwa. Children of Oman, shall it be so? Speak, Salim, son of Sayf, shall we go to meet this Mshensi (pagan) or shall we return to our island?"

A murmur of approbation followed the speech of Khamis bin Abdullah, the majority of those present being young men eager to punish the audacious Mirambo. Salim, the son of Sayf, an old patriarch, slow of speech, tried to appease the passions of the young men, scions of the aristocracy of Muscat and Muttrah, and Bedaweens of the Desert, but Khamis's bold words had made too deep an impression on their minds.

Soud, the handsome Arab whom I have noticed already as the son of Sayd the son of Majid, spoke: "My father used to tell me that he remembered the days when the Arabs could go through the country from Bagamoyo to Ujiji, and from Kilwa to Lunda, and from Usenga to Uganda armed with canes. Those days are gone by. We have stood the insolence of the Wagogo long enough. Swaruru of Usui just takes from us whatever he wants; and now, here is Mirambo, who says, after taking more than five bales of cloth as tribute from one man, that no Arab caravan shall go to Ujiji, but over his body. Are we prepared to give up the ivory of Ujiji, of Urundi, of Karagwah, of Uganda, because of this one man? I say war—war until we have got his beard under our feet—war until the whole of Uyoweh and Wilyankuru is destroyed—war until we can again travel through any part of the country with only our walking canes in our hands!"

The universal assent that followed Send's speech proved beyond a doubt that we were about to have a war. I thought of Livingstone. What if he were marching to Unyanyembe directly into the war country?

Having found from the Arabs that they intended to finish the war quickly—at most within fifteen days, as Uyoweh was only four marches distant—I volunteered to accompany them, take my loaded caravan with me as far as Mfuto, and there leave it in charge of a few guards, and with the rest march on with the Arab army. And my hope was, that it might be possible, after the defeat of Mirambo, and his forest banditti—the Ruga-Ruga—to take my Expedition direct to Ujiji by the road now closed. The Arabs were sanguine of victory, and I partook of their enthusiasm.

The council of war broke up. A great dishful of rice and curry, in which almonds, citron, raisins, and currants were plentifully mixed, was brought in, and it was wonderful how soon we forgot our warlike fervor after our attention had been drawn to this royal dish. I, of course, not being a Mohammedan, had a dish of my own, of a similar composition, strengthened by platters containing roast chicken, and kabobs, crullers, cakes, sweetbread, fruit, glasses of sherbet and lemonade, dishes of gum-drops and Muscat sweetmeats, dry raisins, prunes, and nuts. Certainly Khamis bin Abdullah proved to me that if he had a warlike soul in him, he could also attend to the cultivated tastes acquired under the shade of the mangoes on his father's estates in Zanzibar—the island.

After gorging ourselves on these uncommon dainties some of the chief Arabs escorted me to other tembes of Tabora. When we went to visit Mussoud bin Abdullah, he showed me the very ground where Burton and Speke's house stood—now pulled down and replaced by his office—Sny bin Amer's house was also torn down, and the fashionable tembe of Unyanyembe, now in vogue, built over it,—finely-carved rafters—huge carved doors, brass knockers, and lofty airy rooms—a house built for defence and comfort.

The finest house in Unyanyembe belongs to Amram bin Mussoud, who paid sixty frasilah of ivory—over $3,000—for it. Very fair houses can be purchased for from twenty to thirty frasilah of ivory. Amram's house is called the "Two Seas"—"Baherein." It is one hundred feet in length, and twenty feet high, with walls four feet thick, neatly plastered over with mud mortar. The great door is a marvel of carving-work for Unyanyembe artisans. Each rafter within is also carved with fine designs. Before the front of the house is a young plantation of pomegranate trees, which flourish here as if they were indigenous to the soil. A shadoof, such as may be seen on the Nile, serves to draw water to irrigate the gardens.

Towards evening we walked back to our own finely situated tembe in Kwihara, well satisfied with what we had seen at Tabora. My men drove a couple of oxen, and carried three sacks of native rice—a most superior kind—the day's presents of hospitality from Khamis bin Abdullah.

In Unyanyembe I found the Livingstone caravan, which started off in a fright from Bagamoyo upon the rumour that the English Consul was coming. As all the caravans were now halted at Unyanyembe because of the now approaching war, I suggested to Sayd bin Salim, that it were better that the men of the Livingstone caravan should live with mine in my tembe, that I might watch over the white man's goods. Sayd bin Salim agreed with me, and the men and goods were at once brought to my tembe.

One day Asmani, who was now chief of Livingstone's caravan, the other having died of small-pox, two or three days before, brought out a tent to the veranda where, I was sitting writing, and shewed me a packet of letters, which to my surprise was marked:

"To Dr. Livingstone, " Ujiji, "November 1st, 1870.

" Registered letters."

From November 1st, 1870, to February 10, 1871, just one hundred days, at Bagamoyo! A miserable small caravan of thirty-three men halting one hundred days at Bagamoyo, only twenty-five miles by water from Zanzibar! Poor Livingstone! Who knows but he maybe suffering for want of these very supplies that were detained so long near the sea. The caravan arrived in Unyanyembe some time about the middle of May. About the latter part of May the first disturbances took place. Had this caravan arrived here in the middle of March, or even the middle of April, they might have travelled on to Ujiji without trouble.

On the 7th of July, about 2 P.M., I was sitting on the burzani as usual; I felt listless and languid, and a drowsiness came over me; I did not fall asleep, but the power of my limbs seemed to fail me. Yet the brain was busy; all my life seemed passing in review before me; when these retrospective scenes became serious, I looked serious; when they were sorrowful, I wept hysterically; when they were joyous, I laughed loudly. Reminiscences of yet a young life's battles and hard struggles came surging into the mind in quick succession: events of boyhood, of youth, and manhood; perils, travels, scenes, joys, and sorrows; loves and hates; friendships and indifferences. My mind followed the various and rapid transition of my life's passages; it drew the lengthy, erratic, sinuous lines of travel my footsteps had passed over. If I had drawn them on the sandy floor, what enigmatical problems they had been to those around me, and what plain, readable, intelligent histories they had been to me!

The loveliest feature of all to me was the form of a noble, and true man, who called me son. Of my life in the great pine forests of Arkansas, and in Missouri, I retained the most vivid impressions. The dreaming days I passed under the sighing pines on the Ouachita's shores; the new clearing, the block-house, our faithful black servant, the forest deer, and the exuberant life I led, were all well remembered. And I remembered how one day, after we had come to live near the Mississipi, I floated down, down, hundreds of miles, with a wild fraternity of knurly giants, the boatmen of the Mississipi, and how a dear old man welcomed me back, as if from the grave. I remembered also my travels on foot through sunny Spain, and France, with numberless adventures in Asia Minor, among Kurdish nomads. I remembered the battle-fields of America and the stormy scenes of rampant war. I remembered gold mines, and broad prairies, Indian councils, and much experience in the new western lands. I remembered the shock it gave me to hear after my return from a barbarous country of the calamity that had overtaken the fond man whom I called father, and the hot fitful life that followed it. Stop! ************

Dear me; is it the 21st of July? Yes, Shaw informed me that it was the 21st of July after I recovered from my terrible attack of fever; the true date was the 14th of July, but I was not aware that I had jumped a week, until I met Dr. Livingstone. We two together examined the Nautical Almanack, which I brought with me. We found that the Doctor was three weeks out of his reckoning, and to my great surprise I was also one week out, or one week ahead of the actual date. The mistake was made by my being informed that I had been two weeks sick, and as the day I recovered my senses was Friday, and Shaw and the people were morally sure that I was in bed two weeks, I dated it on my Diary the 21st of July. However, on the tenth day after the first of my illness, I was in excellent trim again, only, however, to see and attend to Shaw, who was in turn taken sick. By the 22nd July Shaw was recovered, then Selim was prostrated, and groaned in his delirium for four days, but by the 28th we were all recovered, and were beginning to brighten up at the prospect of a diversion in the shape of a march upon Mirambo's stronghold.

The morning of the 29th I had fifty men loaded with bales, beads, and wire, for Ujiji. When they were mustered for the march outside the tembe, the only man absent was Bombay. While men were sent to search for him, others departed to get one more look, and one more embrace with their black Delilahs. Bombay was found some time about 2 P.M., his face faithfully depicting the contending passions under which he was labouring—sorrow at parting from the fleshpots of Unyanyembe—regret at parting from his Dulcinea of Tabora—to be, bereft of all enjoyment now, nothing but marches—hard, long marches—to go to the war—to be killed, perhaps, Oh! Inspired by such feelings, no wonder Bombay was inclined to be pugnacious when I ordered him to his place, and I was in a shocking bad temper for having been kept waiting from 8 A.M. to 2 P.M. for him. There was simply a word and a savage look, and my cane was flying around Bombay's shoulders, as if he were to be annihilated. I fancy that the eager fury of my onslaught broke his stubbornness more than anything else; for before I had struck him a dozen times he was crying for "pardon." At that word I ceased belaboring him, for this was the first time he had ever uttered that word. Bombay was conquered at last.

"March!" and the guide led off, followed in solemn order by forty-nine of his fellows, every man carrying a heavy load of African moneys, besides his gun, hatchet, and stock of ammunition, and his ugali-pot. We presented quite an imposing sight while thus marching on in silence and order, with our flags flying, and the red blanket robes of the men streaming behind them as the furious north-easter blew right on our flank.

The men seemed to feel they were worth seeing, for I noticed that several assumed a more martial tread as they felt their royal Joho cloth tugging at their necks, as it was swept streaming behind by the wind. Maganga, a tall Mnyamwezi, stalked along like a very Goliah about to give battle alone, to Mirambo and his thousand warriors. Frisky Khamisi paced on under his load, imitating a lion and there was the rude jester—the incorrigible Ulimengo— with a stealthy pace like a cat. But their silence could not last long. Their, vanity was so much gratified, the red cloaks danced so incessantly before their eyes, that it would have been a wonder if they could have maintained such serious gravity or discontent one half hour longer.

Ulimengo was the first who broke it. He had constituted himself the kirangozi or guide, and was the standard-bearer, bearing the American flag, which the men thought would certainly strike terror into the hearts of the enemy. Growing confident first, then valorous, then exultant, he suddenly faced the army he was leading, and shouted

"Hoy! Hoy ! Chorus.—Hoy! Hoy!

Hoy! Hoy! Chorus.—Hoy! Hoy!

Hoy! Hoy! Chorus.—Hoy! Hoy!

Where are ye going? Chorus.—Going to war.

Against whom? Chorus.—Against Mirambo.

Who is your master? Chorus.—The White Man.

Ough! Ough! Chorus.—Ough! Ough!

Hyah! Hyah! Chorus.—Hyah. Hyah!"

This was the ridiculous song they kept up all day without intermission.

We camped the first day at Bomboma's village, situated a mile to the south-west of the natural hill fortress of Zimbili. Bombay was quite recovered from his thrashing, and had banished the sullen thoughts that had aroused my ire, and the men having behaved themselves so well, a five-gallon pot of pombe was brought to further nourish the valour, which they one and all thought they possessed.

The second day we arrived at Masangi. I was visited soon afterwards by Soud, the son of Sayd bin Majid, who told me the Arabs were waiting for me; that they would not march from Mfuto until I had arrived.

Eastern Mfuto, after a six hours' march, was reached on the third day from Unyanyembe. Shaw gave in, laid down in the road, and declared he was dying. This news was brought to me about 4 P.M. by one of the last stragglers. I was bound to despatch men to carry him to me, into my camp, though every man was well tired after the long march. A reward stimulated half-a-dozen to venture into the forest just at dusk to find Shaw, who was supposed to be at least three hours away from camp.

About two o'clock in the morning my men returned, having carried Shaw on their backs the entire distance. I was roused up, and had him conveyed to my tent. I examined him, and I assured myself he was not suffering from fever of any kind; and in reply to my inquiries as to how he felt, he said he could neither walk nor ride, that he felt such extreme weakness and lassitude that he was incapable of moving further. After administering a glass of port wine to him in a bowlful of sago gruel, we both fell asleep.

We arrived early the following morning at Mfuto, the rendezvous of the Arab army. A halt was ordered the next day, in order to make ourselves strong by eating the beeves, which we freely slaughtered.

The personnel of our army was as follows:

Sheikh Sayd bin Salim . . . . . . 25 half caste

" Khamis bin Abdullah . . . . 250 slaves

" Thani bin Abdullah . . . . 80 "

" Mussoud bin Abdullah . . . . 75 "

" Abdullah bin Mussoud . . . . 80 "

" Ali bin Sayd bin Nasib . . . 250 "

" Nasir bin Mussoud . . . . . 50 "

" Hamed Kimiami . . . . . . 70 "

" Hamdam . . . . . . . . 30 "

" Sayd bin Habib . . . . . . 50 "

" Salim bin Sayf . . . . . 100 "

" Sunguru . . . . . . . . 25 "

" Sarboko . . . . . . . . 25 "

" Soud bin Sayd bin Majid . . . 50 "

" Mohammed bin Mussoud . . . . 30 "

" Sayd bin Hamed . . . . . . 90 "

" The 'Herald' Expedition . . . 50 soldiers

" Mkasiwa's Wanyamwezi . . . 800 "

" Half-castes and Wangwana . . 125 "

" Independent chiefs and their followers . . . . . . . 300 "

These made a total of 2,255, according to numbers given me by Thani bin Abdullah, and corroborated by a Baluch in the pay of Sheikh bin Nasib. Of these men 1,500 were armed with guns— flint-lock muskets, German and French double-barrels, some English Enfields, and American Springfields—besides these muskets, they were mostly armed with spears and long knives for the purpose of decapitating, and inflicting vengeful gashes in the dead bodies. Powder and ball were plentiful: some men were served a hundred rounds each, my people received each man sixty rounds.

As we filed out of the stronghold of Mfuto, with waving banners denoting the various commanders, with booming horns, and the roar of fifty bass drums, called gomas—with blessings showered on us by the mollahs, and happiest predications from the soothsayers, astrologers, and the diviners of the Koran—who could have foretold that this grand force, before a week passed over its head, would be hurrying into that same stronghold of Mfuto, with each man's heart in his mouth from fear?

The date of our leaving Mfuto for battle with Mirambo was the 3rd of August. All my goods were stored in Mfuto, ready for the march to Ujiji, should we be victorious over the African chief, but at least for safety, whatever befel us.

Long before we reached Umanda, I was in my hammock in the paroxysms of a fierce attack of intermittent fever, which did not leave me until late that night.

At Umanda, six hours from Mfuto, our warriors bedaubed themselves with the medicine which the wise men had manufactured for them—a compound of matama flour mixed with the juices of a herb whose virtues were only known to the Waganga of the Wanyamwezi.

At 6 A.M. on the 4th of August we were once more prepared for the road, but before we were marched out of the village, the "manneno," or speech, was delivered by the orator of the Wanyamwezi:

"Words! words! words! Listen, sons of Mkasiwa, children of Unyamwezi! the journey is before you, the thieves of the forest are waiting; yes, they are thieves, they cut up your caravans, they steal your ivory, they murder your women. Behold, the Arabs are with you, El Wali of the Arab sultan, and the white man are with you. Go, the son of Mkasiwa is with you; fight; kill, take slaves, take cloth, take cattle, kill, eat, and fill yourselves! Go!"

"A loud, wild shout followed this bold harangue, the gates of the village were thrown open, and blue, red, and white-robed soldiers were bounding upward like so many gymnasts; firing their guns incessantly, in order to encourage themselves with noise, or to strike terror into the hearts of those who awaited us within the strong enclosure of Zimbizo, Sultan Kolongo's place.

As Zimbizo was distant only five hours from Umanda, at 11 A.M. we came in view of it. We halted on the verge of the cultivated area around it and its neighbours within the shadow of the forest. Strict orders had been given by the several chiefs to their respective commands not to fire, until they were within shooting distance of the boma.

Khamis bin Abdullah crept through the forest to the west of the village. The Wanyamwezi took their position before the main gateway, aided by the forces of Soud the son of Sayd on the right, and the son of Habib on the left, Abdullah, Mussoud, myself, and others made ready to attack the eastern gates, which arrangement effectually shut them in, with the exception of the northern side.

Suddenly, a volley opened on us as we emerged from the forest along the Unyanyembe road, in the direction they had been anticipating the sight of an enemy, and immediately the attacking forces began their firing in most splendid style. There were some ludicrous scenes of men pretending to fire, then jumping off to one side, then forward, then backward, with the agility of hopping frogs, but the battle was none the less in earnest. The breech-loaders of my men swallowed my metallic cartridges much faster than I liked to see; but happily there was a lull in the firing, and we were rushing into the village from the west, the south, the north, through the gates and over the tall palings that surrounded the village, like so many Merry Andrews; and the poor villagers were flying from the enclosure towards the mountains, through the northern gate, pursued by the fleetest runners of our force, and pelted in the back by bullets from breech-loaders and shot-guns.

The village was strongly defended, and not more than twenty dead bodies were found in it, the strong thick wooden paling having afforded excellent protection against our bullets.

From Zimbizo, after having left a sufficient force within, we sallied out, and in an hour had cleared the neighbourhood of the enemy, having captured two other villages, which we committed to the flames, after gutting them of all valuables. A few tusks of ivory, and about fifty slaves, besides an abundance of grain, composed the "loot," which fell to the lot of the Arabs.

On the 5th, a detachment of Arabs and slaves, seven hundred strong, scoured the surrounding country, and carried fire and devastation up to the boma of Wilyankuru.

On the 6th, Soud bin Sayd and about twenty other young Arabs led a force of five hundred men against Wilyankuru itself, where it was supposed Mirambo was living. Another party went out towards the low wooded hills, a short distance north of Zimbizo, near which place they surprised a youthful forest thief asleep, whose head they stretched backwards, and cut it off as though he were a goat or a sheep. Another party sallied out southward, and defeated a party of Mirambo's "bush-whackers," news of which came to our ears at noon.

In the morning I had gone to Sayd bin Salim's tembe, to represent to him how necessary it was to burn the long grass in the forest of Zimbizo, lest it might hide any of the enemy; but soon afterwards I had been struck down with another attack of intermittent fever, and was obliged to turn in and cover myself with blankets to produce perspiration; but not, however, till I had ordered Shaw and Bombay not to permit any of my men to leave the camp. But I was told soon afterwards by Selim that more than one half had gone to the attack on Wilyankuru with Soud bin Sayd.

About 6 P.M. the entire camp of Zimbizo was electrified with the news that all the Arabs who had accompanied Soud bin Sayd had been killed; and that more than one-half of his party had been slain. Some of my own men returned, and from them I learned that Uledi, Grant's former valet, Mabruki Khatalabu (Killer of his father), Mabruki (the Little), Baruti of Useguhha, and Ferahan had been killed. I learned also that they had succeeded in capturing Wilyankuru in a very short time, that Mirambo and his son were there, that as they succeeded in effecting an entrance, Mirambo had collected his men, and after leaving the village, had formed an ambush in the grass, on each side of the road, between Wilyankuru and Zimbizo, and that as the attacking party were returning home laden with over a hundred tusks of ivory, and sixty bales of cloth, and two or three hundred slaves, Mirambo's men suddenly rose up on each side of them, and stabbed them with their spears. The brave Soud had fired his double-barrelled gun and shot two men, and was in the act of loading again when a spear was launched, which penetrated through and through him: all the other Arabs shared the same fate. This sudden attack from an enemy they believed to be conquered so demoralized the party that, dropping their spoil, each man took to his heels, and after making a wide detour through the woods, returned to Zimbizo to repeat the dolorous tale.

The effect of this defeat is indescribable. It was impossible to sleep, from the shrieks of the women whose husbands had fallen. All night they howled their lamentations, and sometimes might be heard the groans of the wounded who had contrived to crawl through the grass unperceived by the enemy. Fugitives were continually coming in throughout the night, but none of my men who were reported to be dead, were ever heard of again.

The 7th was a day of distrust, sorrow, and retreat; the Arabs accused one another for urging war without expending all peaceful means first. There were stormy councils of war held, wherein were some who proposed to return at once to Unyanyembe, and keep within their own houses; and Khamis bin Abdullah raved, like an insulted monarch, against the abject cowardice of his compatriots. These stormy meetings and propositions to retreat were soon known throughout the camp, and assisted more than anything else to demoralize completely the combined forces of Wanyamwezi and slaves. I sent Bombay to Sayd bin Salim to advise him not to think of retreat, as it would only be inviting Mirambo to carry the war to Unyanyembe.

After, despatching Bombay with this message, I fell asleep, but about 1.30 P.M. I was awakened by Selim saying, "Master, get up, they are all running away, and Khamis bin Abdullah is himself going."

With the aid of Selim I dressed myself, and staggered towards the door. My first view was of Thani bin Abdullah being dragged away, who, when he caught sight of me, shouted out "Bana—quick—Mirambo is coming." He was then turning to run, and putting on his jacket, with his eyes almost starting out of their sockets with terror. Khamis bin Abdullah was also about departing, he being the last Arab to leave. Two of my men were following him; these Selim was ordered to force back with a revolver. Shaw was saddling his donkey with my own saddle, preparatory to giving me the slip, and leaving me in the lurch to the tender mercies of Mirambo. There were only Bombay, Mabruki Speke, Chanda who was coolly eating his dinner, Mabruk Unyauyembe, Mtamani, Juma, and Sarmean—-only seven out of fifty. All the others had deserted, and were by this time far away, except Uledi (Manwa Sera) and Zaidi, whom Selim brought back at the point of a loaded revolver. Selim was then told to saddle my donkey, and Bombay to assist Shaw to saddle his own. In a few moments we were on the road, the men ever looking back for the coming enemy; they belabored the donkeys to some purpose, for they went at a hard trot, which caused me intense pain. I would gladly have lain down to die, but life was sweet, and I had not yet given up all hope of being able to preserve it to the full and final accomplishment of my mission. My mind was actively at work planning and contriving during the long lonely hours of night, which we employed to reach Mfuto, whither I found the Arabs had retreated. In the night Shaw tumbled off his donkey, and would not rise, though implored to do so. As I did not despair myself, so I did not intend that Shaw should despair. He was lifted on his animal, and a man was placed on each side of him to assist him; thus we rode through the darkness. At midnight we reached Mfuto safely, and were at once admitted into the village, from which we had issued so valiantly, but to which we were now returned so ignominiously.

I found all my men had arrived here before dark. Ulimengo, the bold guide who had exulted in his weapons and in our numbers, and was so sanguine of victory, had performed the eleven hours' march in six hours; sturdy Chowpereh, whom I regarded as the faithfullest of my people, had arrived only half an hour later than Ulimengo; and frisky Khamisi, the dandy—the orator—the rampant demagogue—yes—he had come third; and Speke's "Faithfuls" had proved as cowardly as any poor "nigger" of them all. Only Selim was faithful.

I asked Selim, "Why did you not also run away, and leave your master to die?"

"Oh, sir," said the Arab boy, naively, "I was afraid you would whip me."



CHAPTER IX. MY LIFE AND TROUBLES IN UNYANYEMBE-(continued).

It never occurred to the Arab magnates that I had cause of complaint against them, or that I had a right to feel aggrieved at their conduct, for the base desertion of an ally, who had, as a duty to friendship, taken up arms for their sake. Their "salaams" the next morning after the retreat, were given as if nothing had transpired to mar the good feeling that had existed between us.

They were hardly seated, however, before I began to inform them that as the war was only between them and Mirambo, and that as I was afraid, if they were accustomed to run away after every little check, that the war might last a much longer time than I could afford to lose; and that as they had deserted their wounded on the field, and left their sick friends to take care of themselves, they must not consider me in the light of an ally any more. "I am satisfied," said I, "having seen your mode of fighting, that the war will not be ended in so short a time as you think it will. It took you five years, I hear, to conquer and kill Manwa Sera, you will certainly not conquer Mirambo in less than a year.* I am a white man, accustomed to wars after a different style, I know something about fighting, but I never saw people run away from an encampment like ours at Zimbizo for such slight cause as you had. By running away, you have invited Mirambo to follow you to Unyanyembe; you may be sure he will come." * The same war is still raging, April, 1874.

The Arabs protested one after another that they had not intended to have left me, but the Wanyamwezi of Mkasiwa had shouted out that the "Musungu" was gone, and the cry had caused a panic among their people, which it was impossible to allay.

Later that day the Arabs continued their retreat to Tabora; which is twenty-two miles distant from Mfuto. I determined to proceed more leisurely, and on the second day after the flight from Zimbizo, the Expedition, with all the stores and baggage, marched back to Masangi, and on the third day to Kwihara.

The following extracts from my Diary will serve to show better than anything else, my feelings and thoughts about this time, after our disgraceful retreat:

Kwihara. Friday, 11th August, 1871.—Arrived to-day from Zimbili, village of Bomboma's. I am quite disappointed and almost disheartened. But I have one consolation, I have done my duty by the Arabs, a duty I thought I owed to the kindness they received me with, now, however, the duty is discharged, and I am free to pursue my own course. I feel happy, for some reasons, that the duty has been paid at such a slight sacrifice. Of course if I had lost my life in this enterprise, I should have been justly punished. But apart from my duty to the consideration with which the Arabs had received me, was the necessity of trying every method of reaching Livingstone. This road which the war with Mirambo has closed, is only a month's march from this place, and, if the road could be opened with my aid, sooner than without it, why should I refuse my aid? The attempt has been made for the second time to Ujiji—both have failed. I am going to try another route; to attempt to go by the north would be folly. Mirambo's mother and people, and the Wasui, are between me and Ujiji, without including the Watuta, who are his allies, and robbers. The southern route seems to be the most practicable one. Very few people know anything of the country south; those whom I have questioned concerning it speak of "want of water" and robber Wazavira, as serious obstacles; they also say that the settlements are few and far between.

But before I can venture to try this new route, I have to employ a new set of men, as those whom I took to Mfuto consider their engagements at an end, and the fact of five of their number being killed rather damps their ardor for travelling. It is useless to hope that Wanyamwezi can be engaged, because it is against their custom to go with caravans, as carriers, during war time. My position is most serious. I have a good excuse for returning to the coast, but my conscience will not permit me to do so, after so much money has been expended, and so much confidence has been placed in me. In fact, I feel I must die sooner than return.

Saturday, August 12th.—My men, as I supposed they would, have gone; they said that I engaged them to go, to Ujiji by Mirambo's road. I have only thirteen left.

With this small body of men, whither can I go? I have over one hundred loads in the storeroom. Livingstone's caravan is also here; his goods consist of seventeen bales of cloth, twelve boxes, and six bags of beads. His men are luxuriating upon the best the country affords.

If Livingstone is at Ujiji, he is now locked up with small means of escape. I may consider myself also locked up at Unyamyembe, and I suppose cannot go to Ujiji until this war with Mirambo is settled. Livingstone cannot get his goods, for they are here with mine. He cannot return to Zanzibar, and the road to the Nile is blocked up. He might, if he has men and stores, possibly reach Baker by travelling northwards, through Urundi, thence through Ruanda, Karagwah, Uganda, Unyoro, and Ubari to Gondokoro. Pagazis he cannot obtain, for the sources whence a supply might be obtained are closed. It is an erroneous supposition to think that Livingstone, any more than any other energetic man of his calibre, can travel through Africa without some sort of an escort, and a durable supply of marketable cloth and beads.

I was told to-day by a man that when Livingstone was coming from Nyassa Lake towards the Tanganika (the very time that people thought him murdered) he was met by Sayd bin Omar's caravan, which was bound for Ulamba. He was travelling with Mohammed bin Gharib. This Arab, who was coming from Urunga, met Livingstone at Chi-cumbi's, or Kwa-chi-kumbi's, country, and travelled with him afterwards, I hear, to Manyuema or Manyema. Manyuema is forty marches from the north of Nyassa. Livingstone was walking; he was dressed in American sheeting. He had lost all his cloth in Lake Liemba while crossing it in a boat. He had three canoes with him; in one he put his cloth, another he loaded with his boxes and some of his men, into the third he went himself with two servants and two fishermen. The boat with his cloth was upset. On leaving Nyassa, Livingstone went to Ubisa, thence to Uemba, thence to Urungu. Livingstone wore a cap. He had a breech-loading double-barreled rifle with him, which fired fulminating balls. He was also armed with two revolvers. The Wahiyow with Livingstone told this man that their master had many men with him at first, but that several had deserted him.

August 13th.—A caravan came in to-day from the seacoast. They reported that William L. Farquhar, whom I left sick at Mpwapwa, Usagara, and his cook, were dead. Farquhar, I was told, died a few days after I had entered Ugogo, his cook died a few weeks later. My first impulse was for revenge. I believed that Leukole had played me false, and had poisoned him, or that he had been murdered in some other manner; but a personal interview with the Msawahili who brought the news informing me that Farquhar had succumbed to his dreadful illness has done away with that suspicion. So far as I could understand him, Farquhar had in the morning declared himself well enough to proceed, but in attempting to rise, had fallen backward and died. I was also told that the Wasagara, possessing some superstitious notions respecting the dead, had ordered Jako to take the body out for burial, that Jako, not being able to carry it, had dragged the body to the jungle, and there left it naked without the slightest covering of earth, or anything else.

"There is one of us gone, Shaw, my boy! Who will be the next?" I remarked that night to my companion.

August 14th.—Wrote some letters to Zanzibar. Shaw was taken very ill last night.

August 19th. Saturday.—My soldiers are employed stringing beads. Shaw is still a-bed. We hear that Mirambo is coming to Unyanyembe. A detachment of Arabs and their slaves have started this morning to possess themselves of the powder left there by the redoubtable Sheikh Sayd bin Salim, the commander-in-chief of the Arab settlements.

August 21st. Monday.—Shaw still sick. One hundred fundo of beads have been strung. The Arabs are preparing for another sally against Mirambo. The advance of Mirambo upon Unyanyembe was denied by Sayd bin Salim, this morning.

August 22nd.—We were stringing beads this morning, when, about 10 A.M., we heard a continued firing from the direction of Tabora. Rushing out from our work to the front door facing Tabora, we heard considerable volleying, and scattered firing, plainly; and ascending to the top of my tembe, I saw with my glasses the smoke of the guns. Some of my men who were sent on to ascertain the cause came running back with the information that Mirambo had attacked Tabora with over two thousand men, and that a force of over one thousand Watuta, who had allied themselves with him for the sake of plunder, had come suddenly upon Tabora, attacking from opposite directions.

Later in the day, or about noon, watching the low saddle over which we could see Tabora, we saw it crowded with fugitives from that settlement, who were rushing to our settlement at Kwihara for protection. From these people we heard the sad information that the noble Khamis bin Abdullah, his little protege, Khamis, Mohammed bin Abdullah, Ibrahim bin Rashid, and Sayf, the son of Ali, the son of Sheikh, the son of Nasib, had been slain.

When I inquired into the details of the attack, and the manner of the death of these Arabs, I was told that after the first firing which warned the inhabitants of Tabora that the enemy was upon them, Khamis bin Abdullah and some of the principal Arabs who happened to be with him had ascended to the roof of his tembe, and with his spyglass he had looked towards the direction of the firing. To his great astonishment he saw the plain around Tabora filled with approaching savages, and about two miles off, near Kazima, a tent pitched, which he knew to belong to Mirambo, from its having been presented to that chief by the Arabs of Tabora when they were on good terms with him.

Khamis bin Abdullah descended to his house saying, "Let us go to meet him. Arm yourselves, my friends, and come with me." His friends advised him strongly sat to go out of his tembe; for so long as each Arab kept to his tembe they were more than a match for the Ruga Ruga and the Watuta together. But Khamis broke out impatiently with, "Would you advise us to stop in our tembes, for fear of this Mshensi (pagan)? Who goes with me?" His little protege, Khamis,, son of a dead friend, asked to be allowed to be his gun-bearer;. Mohammed bin Abdulluh, Ibrahim bin Rashid, and Sayf, the son of Ali, young Arabs of good families, who were proud to live with the noble Khamis, also offered to go with him. After hastily arming eighty of his slaves, contrary to the advice of his prudent friends, he sallied out, and was soon face to face with his cunning and determined enemy Mirambo. This chief, upon seeing the Arabs advance towards him, gave orders to retreat slowly. Khamis, deceived by this, rushed on with his friends after them. Suddenly Mirambo ordered his men to advance upon them in a body, and at the sight of the precipitate rush upon their party, Khamis's slaves incontinently took to their heels, never even deigning to cast a glance behind them, leaving their master to the fate which was now overtaking him. The savages surrounded the five Arabs, and though several of them fell before the Arabs' fire, continued to shoot at the little party, until Khamis bin Abdullah received a bullet in the leg, which brought him to his knees, and, for the first time, to the knowledge that his slaves had deserted him. Though wounded, the brave man continued shooting, but he soon afterwards received a bullet through the heart. Little Khamis, upon seeing his adopted father's fall, exclaimed: "My father Khamis is dead, I will die with him," and continued fighting until he received, shortly after, his death wound. In a few minutes there was not one Arab left alive.