"More pilgrims come to
town," were the words heard in Beulah. "The white man has come to
town," were the words we heard in Bagamoyo. And we shall cross the
water tomorrow to Zanzibar, and shall enter the golden gate; we
shall see nothing, smell nothing, taste nothing that is offensive
to the stomach any more!
The kirangozi blows his horn, and gives forth blasts potential as
Astolpho's, as the natives and Arabs throng around us. And that
bright flag, whose stars have waved over the waters of the great
lake in Central Africa, which promised relief to the harassed
Livingstone when in distress at Ujiji, returns to the sea once
again - torn, it is true, but not dishonoured - tattered, but not
disgraced.
As we reached the middle of the town, I saw on the steps of a
large white house a white man, in flannels and helmet similar
to that I wore. I thought myself rather akin to white men in
general, and I walked up to him. He advanced towards me, and
we shook hands - did everything but embrace.
"Won't you walk in?" said he.
"Thanks."
"What will you have to drink - beer, stout, brandy? Eh, by George!
I congratulate you on your splendid success," said he, impetuously.
I knew him immediately. He was an Englishman. He was Lieut.
William Henn, R.N., chief of the Livingstone Search and Relief
Expedition, about to be despatched by the Royal Geographical
Society to find and relieve Livingstone.
