"I know; but consider your health—you are not fit to travel. What is it? Only a few weeks longer. You will travel to the coast just as quickly when the rains are over as you will by going now. The plains will be inundated between here and the coast."
"You think so; but I will reach the coast in forty days; if not in forty, I will in fifty—certain. The thought that I am doing you an important service will spur me on."
March 14th.—At dawn we were up, the bales and baggage were taken outside of the building, and the men prepared themselves for the first march towards home.
We had a sad breakfast together. I could not eat, my heart was too full; neither did my companion seem to have an appetite. We found something to do which kept us longer together. At 8 o'clock I was not gone, and I had thought to have been off at 5 A.M.
"Doctor," said I, "I will leave two men with you, who will stop to-day and to-morrow with you, for it may be that you have forgotten something in the hurry of my departure. I will halt a day at Tura, on the frontier of Unyamwezi, for your last word, and your last wish; and now we must part—there is no help for it. Good-bye."
"Oh, I am coming with you a little way. I must see you off on the road."
"Thank you. Now, my men, Home! Kirangozi, lift the flag, and MARCH!"
The house looked desolate—it faded from our view. Old times, and the memories of my aspirations and kindling hopes, came strong on me. The old hills round about, that I once thought tame and uninteresting, had become invested with histories and reminiscences for me. On that burzani I have sat hour after hour, dreaming, and hoping, and sighing. On that col I stood, watching the battle and the destruction of Tabora. Under that roof I have sickened and been delirious, and cried out like a child at the fate that threatened my mission. Under that banian tree lay my dead comrade—poor Shaw; I would have given a fortune to have had him by my side at this time. From that house I started on my journey to Ujiji; to it I returned as to a friend, with a newer and dearer companion; and now I leave all. Already it all appears like a strange dream.
We walked side by side; the men lifted their voices into a song. I took long looks at Livingstone, to impress his features thoroughly on my memory.
"The thing is, Doctor, so far as I can understand it, you do not intend to return home until you have satisfied yourself about the 'Sources of the Nile.' When you have satisfied yourself, you will come home and satisfy others. Is it not so?"