For It Was Not The Geographical News He Cared So Much About, As The Grand Fact Of Livingstone's Being Alive Or Dead.

In this latter part of December he was writing letters to his children, to Sir Roderick Murchison, and to Lord Granville. He had intended to have written to the Earl of Clarendon, but it was my sad task to inform him of the death of that distinguished nobleman.

In the meantime I was preparing the Expedition for its return march to Unyanyembe, apportioning the bales and luggage, the Doctor's large tin boxes, and my own among my own men; for I had resolved upon permitting the Doctor's men to march as passengers, because they had so nobly performed their duty to their master.

Sayd bin Majid had left, December 12, for Mirambo's country, to give the black Bonaparte battle for the murder of his son Soud in the forests of Wilyankuru; and he had taken with him 300 stout fellows, armed with guns, from Ujiji. The stout-hearted old chief was burning with rage and resentment, and a fine warlike figure he made with his 7-foot gun. Before we had departed for the Rusizi, I had wished him bon voyage, and expressed a hope that he would rid the Central African world of the tyrant Mirambo.

On the 20th of December the rainy season was ushered in with heavy rain, thunder, lightning, and hail; the thermometer falling to 66 degrees Fahrenheit. The evening of this day I was attacked with urticaria, or "nettle rash," for the third time since arriving in Africa, and I suffered a woeful sickness; and it was the forerunner of an attack of remittent fever, which lasted four days. This is the malignant type, which has proved fatal to so many African travellers on the Zambezi, the White Nile, the Congo, and the Niger. The head throbs, the pulses bound, the heart struggles painfully, while the sufferer's thoughts are in a strange world, such only as a sick man's fancy can create. This was the fourth attack of fever since the day I met Livingstone. The excitement of the march, and the high hope which my mind constantly nourished, had kept my body almost invincible against an attack of fever while advancing towards Ujiji; but two weeks after the great event had transpired my energies were relaxed, my mind was perfectly tranquil, and I became a victim.

Christmas came, and the Doctor and I had resolved upon the blessed and time-honoured day being kept as we keep it in Anglo-Saxon lands, with a feast such as Ujiji could furnish us. The fever had quite gone from me the night before, and on Christmas morning, though exceedingly weak, I was up and dressed, and lecturing Ferajji, the cook, upon the importance of this day to white men, and endeavouring to instil into the mind of the sleek and pampered animal some cunning secrets of the culinary art. Fat broad-tailed sheep, goats, zogga and pombe, eggs, fresh milk, plantains, singwe, fine cornflour, fish, onions, sweet potatoes, &c., &c., were procured in the Ujiji market, and from good old Moeni Kheri. But, alas! for my weakness. Ferajji spoiled the roast, and our custard was burned - the dinner was a failure. That the fat-brained rascal escaped a thrashing was due only to my inability to lift my hands for punishment; but my looks were dreadful and alarming, and capable of annihilating any one except Ferajji. The stupid, hard-headed cook only chuckled, and I believe he had the subsequent gratification of eating the pies, custards, and roast that his carelessness had spoiled for European palates.

Sayd bin Majid, previous to his departure, had left orders that we should be permitted to use his canoe for our homeward trip, and Moeni Kheri kindly lent his huge vessel for the same purpose. The Expedition, now augmented by the Doctor and his five servants, and their luggage, necessitated the employment of another canoe. We had our flocks of milch-goats and provision of fat sheep for the jungle of Ukawendi, the transit of which I was about to attempt. Good Halimah, Livingstone's cook, had made ready a sackful of fine flour, such as she only could prepare in her fond devotion for her master. Hamoydah, her husband, also had freely given his assistance and attention to this important article of food. I purchased a donkey for the Doctor, the only one available in Ujiji, lest the Doctor might happen to suffer on the long march from his ancient enemy. In short, we were luxuriously furnished with food, sheep, goats, cheese, cloth, donkeys, and canoes, sufficient to convey us a long distance; we needed nothing more.

The 27th of December has arrived; it is the day of our departure from Ujiji. I was probably about to give an eternal farewell to the port whose name will for ever be sacred in my memory. The canoes - great lumbering hollow trees - are laden with good things; the rowers are in their places; the flag of England is hoisted at the stern of the Doctor's canoe; the flag of America waves and rustles joyously above mine; and I cannot look at them without feeling a certain pride that the two Anglo-Saxon nations are represented this day on this great inland sea, in the face of wild nature and barbarism.

We are escorted to our boats by the great Arab merchants, by the admiring children of Unyamwezi, by the freemen of Zanzibar, by wondering Waguhha and Wajiji, by fierce Warundi, who are on this day quiet, even sorrowful, that the white men are going-"Whither?" they all ask.

At 8 A.M. we start, freely distributing our farewells as the Arabs and quidnuncs wave their hands. On the part of one or two of them there was an attempt to say something sentimental and affecting, especially by the convicted sinner Mohammed bin Sali; but though outwardly I manifested no disapprobation of his words, or of the emphatic way in which he shook my hand, I was not sorry to see the last of him, after his treachery to Livingstone in 1869.

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