"Good-bye!"
The FAREWELL between Livingstone and myself had been spoken. We
were parted, he to whatever fate Destiny had yet in store for him,
to battling against difficulties, to many, many days of marching
through wildernesses, with little or nothing much to sustain him
save his own high spirit, and enduring faith in God - "who would
bring all things right at last;" and I to that which Destiny
may have in store for me.
But though I may live half a century longer, I shall never forget
that parting scene in Central Africa. I shall never cease to think
of the sad tones of that sorrowful word Farewell, how they
permeated through every core of my heart, how they clouded my
eyes, and made me wish unutterable things which could never be.
An audacious desire to steal one embrace from the dear old man came
over me, and almost unmanned me. I felt tempted to stop with him
and assist him, on his long return march to the fountain region,
but these things were not to be, any more than many other
impulsive wishes, and despite the intensified emotions which filled
both of us, save by silent tears, and a tremulous parting word,
we did not betray our stoicism of manhood and race.
I assumed a gruff voice, and ordered the Expedition to march,
and I resolutely turned my face toward the eastern sky. But ever
and anon my eyes would seek that deserted figure of an old man in
grey clothes, who with bended head and slow steps was returning to
his solitude, the very picture of melancholy, and each time I saw
him - as the plain was wide and clear of obstructions - I felt my
eyes stream, and my heart swell with a vague, indefinable feeling
of foreboding and sorrow.
I thought of his lonely figure sitting day after day on the
burzani of his house, by which all caravans from the coast would
have to pass, and of the many, many times he would ask the
new-comers whether they had passed any men coming along the road
for him, and I thought as each day passed, and his stores and
letters had not arrived how be would grieve at the lengthening
delay. I then felt strong again, as I felt that so long as I
should be doing service for Livingstone, I was not quite parted
from him, and by doing the work effectively and speedily the
bond of friendship between us would be strengthened. Such
thoughts spurred me to the resolution to march so quickly for
the coast, that Arabs in after time should marvel at the speed
with which the white man's caravan travelled from Unyanyembe
to Zanzibar.
I took one more look at him; he was standing near the gate of
Kwikuru with his servants near him. I waved a handkerchief to him,
as a final token of farewell, and he responded to it by lifting
his cap.
