The kirangozi blows his horn, and gives forth blasts potential as Astolpho’s, as the natives and Arabs throng around us.  And that bright flag, whose stars have waved over the waters of the great lake in Central Africa, which promised relief to the harassed Livingstone when in distress at Ujiji, returns to the sea once again—­torn, it is true, but not dishonoured—­tattered, but not disgraced.

As we reached the middle of the town, I saw on the steps of a large white house a white man, in flannels and helmet similar to that I wore.  I thought myself rather akin to white men in general, and I walked up to him.  He advanced towards me, and we shook hands—­did everything but embrace.

“Won’t you walk in?” said he.

“Thanks.”

“What will you have to drink—­beer, stout, brandy?  Eh, by George!  I congratulate you on your splendid success,” said he, impetuously.

I knew him immediately.  He was an Englishman.  He was Lieut.  William Henn, R.N., chief of the Livingstone Search and Relief Expedition, about to be despatched by the Royal Geographical Society to find and relieve Livingstone.  The former chief, as the Expedition was at first organized, was Lieut.  Llewellyn S. Dawson, who, as soon as he heard from my men that I had found Livingstone, had crossed over to Zanzibar, and, after consultation with Dr. John Kirk, had resigned.  He had now nothing further to do with it, the command having formally devolved on Lieut.  Henn.  A Mr. Charles New, also, missionary from Mombasah, had joined the expedition, but he had resigned too.  So now there were left but Lieut.  Henn and Mr. Oswell Livingstone, second son of the Doctor.

“Is Mr. Oswell Livingstone here?” I asked, with considerable surprise.

“Yes; he will be here directly.”

“What are you going to do now?” I asked.

“I don’t think it worth my while to go now.  You have taken the wind out of our sails completely.  If you have relieved him, I don’t see the use of my going.  Do you?”

“Well, it depends.  You know your own orders best.  If you have come only to find and relieve him, I can tell you truly he is found and relieved, and that he wants nothing more than a few canned meats, and some other little things which I dare say you have not got.  I have his list in his own handwriting with me.  But his son must go anyhow, and I can get men easily enough for him.”

“Well, if he is relieved, it is of no use my going.”

At this time in walked a slight, young, gentlemanly man, with light complexion, light hair, dark, lustrous eyes, who was introduced to me as Mr. Oswell Livingstone.  The introduction was hardly necessary, for in his features there was much of what were the specialities of his father.  There was an air of quiet resolution about him, and in the greeting which he gave me he exhibited rather a reticent character; but I attributed that to a receptive nature, which augured well for the future.