As this was an unusually long march, I doubted if the Doctor could march it, because his feet were so sore, so I determined to send four men back with the kitanda; but the stout old hero refused to be carried, and walked all the way to camp after a march of eighteen miles. He had been stung dreadfully in the head and in the face; the bees had settled in handfuls in his hair; but, after partaking of a cup of warm tea and some food, he was as cheerful as if he had never travelled a mile.
At Mrera, Central Ukonongo, we halted a day to grind grain, and to prepare the provision we should need during the transit of the wilderness between Mrera and Manyara.
On the 31st of January, at Mwaru, Sultan Ka-mirambo, we met a caravan under the leadership of a slave of Sayd bin Habib, who came to visit us in our camp, which was hidden in a thick clump of jungle. After he was seated, and had taken his coffee, I asked,
"What is thy news, my friend, that thou bast brought from Unyanyembe?"
"My news is good, master."
"How goes the war?"
"Ah, Mirambo is where? He eats the hides even. He is famished. Sayd bin Habib, my master, hath possession of Kirira. The Arabs are thundering at the gates of Wilyankuru. Sayd bin Majid, who came from Ujiji to Usagozi in twenty days, hath taken and slain 'Moto' (Fire), the King. Simba of Kasera hath taken up arms for the defence of his father, Mkasiwa of Unyanyembe. The chief of Ugunda hath sent five hundred men to the field. Ough—Mirambo is where? In a month he will be dead of hunger."
"Great and good news truly, my friend."
"Yes-in the name of God."
"And whither art thou bound with thy caravan?"