After losing many days tossing on the silent sea, with innumerable dolphins, flying-fish, and sharks around us, we had six days of strong breezes, then calms again tried our patience; and the near approach of that period, “the break of the monsoon,” in which it was believed no boat could live, made us sometimes think our epitaph would be “Left Zanzibar on 30th April, 1864, and never more heard of.”  At last, in the beginning of June, the chronometers showed that we were near the Indian coast.  The black men believed it was true because we told them it was so, but only began to dance with joy when they saw sea-weed and serpents floating past.  These serpents are peculiar to these parts, and are mentioned as poisonous in the sailing directions.  We ventured to predict that we should see land next morning, and at midday the high coast hove in sight, wonderfully like Africa before the rains begin.  Then a haze covered all the land, and a heavy swell beat towards it.  A rock was seen, and a latitude showed it to be the Choule rock.  Making that a fresh starting-point, we soon found the light-ship, and then the forest of masts loomed through the haze in Bombay harbour.  We had sailed over 2500 miles.

FOOTNOTES

{1} A remedy composed of from six to eight grains of resin of jalap, the same of rhubarb, and three each of calomel and quinine, made up into four pills, with tincture of cardamoms, usually relieved all the symptoms in five or six hours.  Four pills are a full dose for a man—­one will suffice for a woman.  They received from our men the name of “rousers,” from their efficacy in rousing up even those most prostrated.  When their operation is delayed, a dessert-spoonful of Epsom salts should be given.  Quinine after or during the operation of the pills, in large doses every two or three hours, until deafness or cinchonism ensued, completed the cure.  The only cases in which, we found ourselves completely helpless, were those in which obstinate vomiting ensued.

{2} The late Mr. Robson.

{3} In 1865, four years after these forebodings were penned, we received intelligence that they had all come to pass.  Sekeletu died in the beginning of 1864—­a civil war broke out about the succession to the chieftainship; a large body of those opposed to the late chief’s uncle, Impololo, being regent, departed with their cattle to Lake Ngami; an insurrection by the black tribes followed; Impololo was slain, and the kingdom, of which, under an able sagacious mission, a vast deal might have been made, has suffered the usual fate of African conquests.  That fate we deeply deplore; for, whatever other faults the Makololo might justly be charged with, they did not belong to the class who buy and sell each other, and the tribes who have succeeded them do.