1871, five days
after I left Unyanyembe on my apparently hopeless task.
"Well, Doctor," said I to Livingstone, "the English Consul
requests me to do all I can to push forward your goods to you.
I am sorry that I did not get the authority sooner, for I should
have attempted it; but in the absence of these instructions I
have done the best I could by pushing you towards the goods.
The mountain has not been able to advance towards Mohammed,
but Mohammed has been compelled to advance towards the mountain."
But Dr. Livingstone was too deeply engrossed in his own letters
from home, which were just a year old.
I received good and bad news from New York, but the good news was
subsequent, and wiped out all feelings that might have been evoked
had I received the bad only. But the newspapers, nearly a hundred
of them, New York, Boston, and London journals, were full of most
wonderful news. The Paris Commune was in arms against the National
Assembly; the Tuileries, the Louvre, and the ancient city Lutetia
Parisiorum had been set in flames by the blackguards of
Saint-Antoine! French troops massacring and murdering men,
women, and children; rampant diabolism, and incarnate revenge were
at work in the most beautiful city in the world!
