On January 30th our natives of Zanzibar screamed with delight at the sight of the monkey-tree, an old, familiar sight to them. On February 2nd we greeted, with doffed caps, and with three times three and one more, as Britons will do on such occasions, the kindly, smiling face of our father Neptune as he lay basking in the sunbeams between earth and air. February 3rd saw us winding through the poles decorated with skulls—a sort of negro Temple Bar—which pointed out the way into the little village of Konduchi.
Our return was attended with much ceremony: the war-men danced, shot, and shouted; a rabble of adults, youths, and boys crowded upon us; the fair sex lulliloo’d with vigour; and a general procession
conducted us to a hut, swept, cleaned, and garnished for us by the principal banyan of the village, and there they laughed and stared at us until they could laugh and stare no more.
We were detained at Konduchi for some days, and on February 9th the battela and the stores required for our trip arrived from Zanzibar, and the next day saw us rolling down the coast towards the Island of Zanzibar, where we landed on March 4th, 1859. I was taken ill there, and my companion went home alone—thereby hangs a tale. But I recovered after a while, and left Zanzibar for Aden to catch the homeward boat. I bade adieu to the “coal-hole of the East” on April 28th, 1859, and in due time arrived once more on the shores of Old England, after an absence of two years and eight months.
[6] At the time of which I write (1858) the Tanganyika had never before been visited by any European.