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cavil. We had corresponded on the subject, and agreed that controversy on my part was to be avoided. Any attempt of the kind might only weaken his cause, and I felt that no assertions of mine were necessary to bear out the facts which he had recorded. Truth in time would conquer, and bear down all gainsayers, while that grand reservoir of twenty thousand miles—the Victoria Nyanza, with its fountains and tributaries—would speak for itself. Knowing that on our travels my attention was more directed to the habits of the people than to the geography of the country, he expressed a wish that I should write an account of our camp life in Africa. I complied, and part of this narrative lay on his table on the day of his death. It now goes

forth without his revision or suggestions — a public loss; for my fellow-traveller had a thorough knowledge of the country, loved its inhabitants, was a practical ornithologist, and would have aided me with his views on all topographical questions. Added to a singular adaptation for the work he had made choice of,—arising partly from his imperturbable temper and great patience, Captain Speke was, in private life, pure-minded, honourable, regardless of self, and equally self-denying, with a mind always aiming at great things, and above every littleness. He was gentle and pleasing in manner, with almost childlike simplicity, but at the same time extremely tenacious of purpose. This was

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strikingly displayed in his recent efforts to pro-
secute his work in Africa, which, had he lived,
he would ultimately have accomplished. But
God has ordained it otherwise. His will be
done! To Captain Speke's mourning relatives
and friends, there remains the consolation that
though he died in the prime of life, he had at-
tained to immortal fame, and now rests in his
own beautiful native district, lamented by all
who knew him, and a brilliant example to the
youth of future generations. His remains were
laid with those of his ancestors in the family
vault of the parish church; and had the toll
of the funeral bells reached the shores of the
Nyanza as it touched the hearts of those in
the valley of Ilminster, there is one at least
—the King of Uganda—who would have shed
a tear for the untimely death of the far-distant
traveller who had sought and found his protec-
tion. I must now resume the course of

narrative, which has been so painfully inter-

At Apuddo gales blew hot and powerful enough to melt any number of glaciers. The “Kousee” wind from the N.E., carrying dust with it, blew as if through a funnel during the latter half of January; it was no doubt reflected with greater violence on account of the proximity of the Jubl Kookoo range of mountain to our N.W. While sheltered from its blasts we perspired profusely; but by sunset it had lulled away, and we



were able to walk about with comfort.

A coat was then bearable, and during the night we wore sheets of serge to keep us warm. Rain was noted in my journal on the 12th of January from the N.E., and another note mentions at this time, wind “all day N.N.W., blowing with great freshness.”

Provisions-namely, koonde, murwa, and jowariwere scarce and dear in the villages opposite Jubl Kookoo during the month of January, which was their winter season. Large figs, called M’kooyoo, though thickskinned and full of secds, were now sweet and palatable. No crops were seen growing — all looked desolate wastes and covers. Even the stream which flowed past Apuddo, for three miles up its tortuous course had not a thicket to mark its windings through the plain. The banks dropped straight down fifteen feet to its sandy bed, which was sometimes broken by grasstopped and fissured rocks, and in places by ridges of rock, making a cataract or waterfall. Above this, in one reach two hundred yards long, the water lay deep and almost still, teeming with fish two and three feet in length. We had no means of catching them, and the natives did not use nets, but most likely they had basket-traps.

The people dwelt in villages surrounded by palisades. Some of these villages contained two hundred souls, young and old. It would not be considered safe to have a much smaller settlement, as their neighbours to the east, the Kidi, would come down to plunder them of their herds of cattle. We observed a leper with white hands and limbs. Whether he had succeeded by right to his position of “M’koongoo,” or head of a district, or whether from being looked



upon as a favoured man he was elected president, we could not say, but the latter is not unlikely ; for the natives of Africa have a respect for men with spotted skins. The Turks generally applied to us for medical advice. One day a tooth had to be drawn; a rag was tied round each half of a pair of scissors, and I had to make these answer all the purpose of a forceps. Again, a disease which very much resembles diphtheria, and which was said to be fatal unless cut, was treated in an odd way. The patient had a white abscess in the throat, and it required to be cut. They had no instrument for the purpose, and we had only a penknife, and there was further the difficulty of reaching the seat of the disease. The natives, however, are ingenious; they pulled out the tongue so far that a hair noose could be put round the abscess, and it was then cut, much to the poor man's relief, who speedily recovered.

It has been mentioned that the people of Madi wear the teeth of crocodiles as neck ornaments. The natives of Bari do the same, and the pearly white colour of the teeth is most becoming to their deep bronze complexions. Another ornament seen here was new to us : the thigh-bones of sheep and rats were pierced at one end, and slung from the neck. I had seen nothing like this since leaving Delagoa Bay, where the Zulu Kaffirs, called in Central Africa

Watuta,” wear bones, bird's-feet, &c., as charms round the neck.

On the 1st of February 1863, we marched in a caravan or troop of no less than three hundred souls from our camp at Apuddo to some villages fifteen miles distant on the route to Gondokoro. Having to



cross the river Asua, a wild rocky torrent, the journey occupied six hours and forty minutes, our escort consisting of two hundred ivory-carriers, the Toorkees, their wives, women, slaves, donkeys, cattle, &c. The route lay above the right bank of the Nile, and although the country was uninhabited, I do not recollect ever making a more interesting march. At the fourth mile, and to the west, we heard from the heights on which we stood the White Nile sounding below us, like the ocean, but we could not see it until we had proceeded two miles further. The beautiful noble stream was breaking now and then into foam upon hidden rocks; or running at the rate of about four miles an hour past islands so laden with trees and vegetation that we could only partially discern the opposite bank, and obtain occasional glimpses of the river. On our side we had several species of acacia, the double black thorned and the white; with other trees in lilac bloom, wild figs, &c.; and, had the underwood of thorny scrub been cleared away, the place might have been deemed a paradise. The ivory-carriers marched steadily onwards, but I longed for the halt, that we might have a drink of the water that appeared so inviting. At the eighth mile a happy break in the thicket gave us this opportunity; and we who had traced the stream from the Victoria Nyanza were so glad to see our Uganda acquaintance once more, that we addressed it in the language of that country, exclaiming, “Awangeh! awangeh !”old friend ! old friend! While resting on the rocky bank, the views across, up or down the river, were of great interest. At our feet, by the side of a foaming rapid, fish rose like porpoises, showing their backs in

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