My patience is worn out. I have endeavoured
faithfully to lift you above these petty miseries which you
nourish so devotedly. You are simply suffering from hypochondria.
You imagine yourself sick, and nothing, evidently, will persuade
you that you are not. Mark my words - to return to Unyanyembe,
is to DIE! Should you happen to fall sick in Kwihara who knows
how to administer medicine to you? Supposing you are delirious,
how can any of the soldiers know what you want, or what is
beneficial and necessary for you? Once again, I repeat, if you
return, you DIE!"
"Ah, dear me; I wish I had never ventured to come! I thought
life in Africa was so different from this. I would rather go
back if you will permit me."
The next day was a halt, and arrangements were made for the
transportation of Shaw back to Kwihara. A strong litter was made,
and four stout pagazis were hired at Kigandu to carry him. Bread
was baked, a canteen was filled with cold tea, and a leg of a kid
was roasted for his sustenance while on the road.
The night before we parted we spent together. Shaw played some
tunes on an accordion which I had purchased for him at Zanzibar;
but, though it was only a miserable ten-dollar affair, I thought
the homely tunes evoked from the instrument that night were divine
melodies.
