The reflection of the dazzling
light of civilisation was cast on him while Livingstone was thus
listening in wonder to one of the most exciting pages of history
ever repeated. How the puny deeds of barbarism paled before
these! Who could tell under what new phases of uneasy life Europe
was labouring even then, while we, two of her lonely children,
rehearsed the tale of her late woes and glories? More worthily,
perhaps, had the tongue of a lyric Demodocus recounted them; but,
in the absence of the poet, the newspaper correspondent performed
his part as well and truthfully as he could.
Not long after the Arabs had departed, a dishful of hot hashed-meat
cakes was sent to us by Sayd bin Majid, and a curried chicken was
received from Mohammed bin Sali, and Moeni Kheri sent a dishful of
stewed goat-meat and rice; and thus presents of food came in
succession, and as fast as they were brought we set to. I had a
healthy, stubborn digestion - the exercise I had taken had put it in
prime order; but Livingstone - he had been complaining that he had
no appetite, that his stomach refused everything but a cup of tea
now and then - he ate also - ate like a vigorous, hungry man; and,
as he vied with me in demolishing the pancakes, he kept repeating,
"You have brought me new life. You have brought me new life."
"Oh, by George!" I said, "I have forgotten something. Hasten,
Selim, and bring that bottle; you know which and bring me the silver
goblets. I brought this bottle on purpose for this event, which
I hoped would come to pass, though often it seemed useless to expect
it."
Selim knew where the bottle was, and he soon returned with it - a
bottle of Sillery champagne; and, handing the Doctor a silver
goblet brimful of the exhilarating wine, and pouring a small
quantity into my own, I said,
"Dr. Livingstone, to your very good health, sir."
"And to yours!" he responded, smilingly.
And the champagne I had treasured for this happy meeting was drunk
with hearty good wishes to each other.
But we kept on talking and talking, and prepared food was being
brought to us all that afternoon; and we kept on eating each time
it was brought, until I had eaten even to repletion, and the Doctor
was obliged to confess that he had eaten enough. Still, Halimah,
the female cook of the Doctor's establishment, was in a state of
the greatest excitement. She had been protruding her head out of
the cookhouse to make sure that there were really two white men
sitting down in the veranda, when there used to be only one, who
would not, because he could not, eat anything; and she had been
considerably exercised in her mind about this fact. She was
afraid the Doctor did not properly appreciate her culinary
abilities; but now she was amazed at the extraordinary quantity
of food eaten, and she was in a state of delightful excitement.
We could hear her tongue rolling off a tremendous volume of
clatter to the wondering crowds who halted before the kitchen
to hear the current of news with which she edified them. Poor,
faithful soul! While we listened to the noise of her furious
gossip, the Doctor related her faithful services, and the
terrible anxiety she evinced when the guns first announced
the arrival of another white man in Ujiji; how she had been
flying about in a state cf the utmost excitement, from the kitchen
into his presence, and out again into the square, asking all sorts
of questions; how she was in despair at the scantiness of the
general larder and treasury of the strange household; how she
was anxious to make up for their poverty by a grand appearance -
to make up a sort of Barmecide feast to welcome the white man.
"Why," said she, "is he not one of us? Does he not bring plenty
of cloth and beads? Talk about the Arabs! Who are they that
they should be compared to white men? Arabs, indeed!"
The Doctor and I conversed upon many things, especially upon his
own immediate troubles, and his disappointments, upon his arrival
in Ujiji, when told that all his goods had been sold, and he was
reduced to poverty. He had but twenty cloths or so left of the
stock he had deposited with the man called Sherif, the half-caste
drunken tailor, who was sent by the Consul in charge of the goods.
Besides which he had been suffering from an attack of dysentery,
and his condition was most deplorable. He was but little improved
on this day, though he had eaten well, and already began to feel
stronger and better.
This day, like all others, though big with happiness to me, at last
was fading away. While sitting with our faces looking to the east,
as Livingstone had been sitting for days preceding my arrival, we
noted the dark shadows which crept up above the grove of palms
beyond the village, and above the rampart of mountains which we had
crossed that day, now looming through the fast approaching
darkness; and we listened, with our hearts full of gratitude to
the Great Giver of Good and Dispenser of all Happiness, to the
sonorous thunder of the surf of the Tanganika, and to the chorus
which the night insects sang. Hours passed, and we were still
sitting there with our minds busy upon the day's remarkable events,
when I remembered that the traveller had not yet read his letters.
"Doctor," I said, "you had better read your letters. I will not
keep you up any longer."
"Yes," he answered, "it is getting late; and I will go and read
my friends' letters.
