“I don’t remember, master; it was somewhere about here, I think.”

 “Poor fellows!  The one was half-paralyzed, the other half-blind,”
 said Sir Roderick Murchison, when he described Burton and Spoke’s
 arrival in view of the Tanganika.

And I?  Well, I am so happy that, were I quite paralyzed and blinded, I think that at this supreme moment I could take up my bed and walk, and all blindness would cease at once.  Fortunately, however, I am quite well; I have not suffered a day’s sickness since the day I left Unyanyembe.  How much would Shaw be willing to give to be in my place now?  Who is happiest—­he revelling in the luxuries of Unyanyembe, or I, standing on the summit of this mountain, looking down with glad eyes and proud heart on the Tanganika?

We are descending the western slope of the mountain, with the valley of the Liuche before us.  Something like an hour before noon we have gained the thick matete brake, which grows on both banks of the river; we wade through the clear stream, arrive on the other side, emerge out of the brake, and the gardens of the Wajiji are around us—­a perfect marvel of vegetable wealth.  Details escape my hasty and partial observation.  I am almost overpowered with my own emotions.  I notice the graceful palms, neat plots, green with vegetable plants, and small villages surrounded with frail fences of the matete-cane.

We push on rapidly, lest the news of our coming might reach the people of Ujiji before we come in sight, and are ready for them.  We halt at a little brook, then ascend the long slope of a naked ridge, the very last of the myriads we have crossed.  This alone prevents us from seeing the lake in all its vastness.  We arrive at the summit, travel across and arrive at its western rim, and—­ pause, reader—­the port of Ujiji is below us, embowered in the palms, only five hundred yards from us!

At this grand moment we do not think of the hundreds of miles we have marched, or of the hundreds of hills that we have ascended and descended, or of the many forests we have traversed, or of the jungles and thickets that annoyed us, or of the fervid salt plains that blistered our feet, or of the hot suns that scorched us, nor of the dangers and difficulties, now happily surmounted!

At last the sublime hour has arrived;—­our dreams, our hopes, and anticipations are now about to be realised!  Our hearts and our feelings are with our eyes, as we peer into the palms and try to make out in which hut or house lives the “white man with the grey beard” we heard about when we were at the Malagarazi.

 “Unfurl the flags, and load your guns!”

 “We will, master, we will, master!” respond the men eagerly.

 “One, two, three,—­fire!”

 A volley from nearly fifty guns roars like a salute from a
 battery of artillery :  we shall note its effect presently on
 the peaceful-looking village below.