“Well, then, that’s settled,” said Harold, with a look of satisfaction; “I have already arranged with our agent here to advance me what I require in the way of funds, and shall hire men and canoes when we get down to the Zambesi—”
“The Zam-wot, sir?”
“The Zambesi; did you never hear of it before?”
“Never, nor don’t know wot it is, sir.”
“It is a river; one of the largest on the east coast, which has been well described by Dr Livingstone, that greatest of travellers, whose chief object in travelling is, as he himself says, to raise the negroes out of their present degraded condition, and free them from the curse of slavery.”
“That’s the man to my mind,” said Disco emphatically; “good luck to him.—But w’en d’you mean to start for the Zambizzy, sir?”
“In a few days. It will take that time to get everything ready, and our money packed.”
“Our money packed!” echoed the sailor, with a look of surprise, “w’y, wot d’ye mean!”
“Just what I say. The money current in the interior of Africa is rather cumbrous, being neither more nor less than goods. You’ll never guess what sort—try.”
“Rum,” said Disco.