" You keep away; nothing will prevent me from taking him. He
shall go."
"Go on, Bombay."
The last of my party had gone. The tembe, so lately a busy
scene, had already assumed a naked, desolate appearance.
I turned towards the Arabs, lifted my hat, and said again,
"Farewell," then faced about for the south, followed by my
four young gun-bearers, Selim, Kalulu, Majwara, and Belali.
After half an hour's march the scenery became more animated.
Shaw began to be amused. Bombay had forgotten our quarrel,
and assured me, if I could pass Mirambo's country, I should
"catch the Tanganika;" Mabruki Burton also believed we should.
Selim was glad to leave Unyanyembe, where he had suffered so much
from fever; and there was a something in the bold aspect of the
hills which cropped upward - above fair valleys, that enlivened
and encouraged me to proceed.
In an hour and a half, we arrived at our camp in the Kinyamwezi
village of Mkwenkwe, the birthplace - of our famous chanter Maganga.
My tent was pitched, the goods were stored in one of the tembes;
but one-half the men had returned to Kwihara, to take one more
embrace of their wives and concubines.
Towards night I was attacked once again with the intermittent
fever. Before morning it had departed, leaving me terribly
prostrated with weakness. I had heard the men conversing with each
other over their camp-fires upon the probable prospects of the next
day.
