and sad. Finally the grey river was seen, and
at 9 A.M. its face gleamed with the brightness
of a mirror.
“Embark, my friends! Let us at once away!
and a happy voyage to us.”
The drum and trumpet proclaimed to Tippu-
Tib’s expectant ears that we were ascending the
river. In half an hour we were pulling across to
the left ban,k, and when we reached it a mile
above Vinya-Njara we rested on our oars. The
strong brown current soon bore us down within
hearing of a deep and melodious diapason of
musical voices chanting the farewell song. How
beautiful it sounded to us as we approached
them! The dense jungle and forest seemed to
be penetrated with the vocal notes, and the river
to bear them tenderly towards us. Louder the
sad notes swelled on our ears, full of a pathetic
and mournful meaning. With bated breath we
listened to the rich music which spoke to us
unmistakably of parting, of sundered friendship,
a long, perhaps an eternal, farewell. We came
in view of them, as ranged along the bank in
picturesque costume the sons of Unyamwezi sang
their last song. We w;aved our hands to them.
Our hearts were so full of grief that we could
not speak. Steadily the brown flood (ps
by, .and fainter and fainter came the notes down
the water, till finally they died away,, leaving
us all alope in our loneliness.
But, looking up, I saw the gleaming portal
to the Unknown: wide open to us and away
down, for miles and miles, the river lay stretched
with all the fascination of its mystery. I stood
up and looked at the people. How few they
appeared to dare the region of fable and darkness!
They were nearly all sobbing. They
were leaning forward, bowed, as it seemed, with
grief and heavy hearts.
“ Sons of Zanzibar,” I shouted, “ the Arabs
and the Wanyamwezi are looking at you. They
are now telling one another what brave fellows
you are. Lift up your heads and be men. What
is there to fear? All the world is smiling with
joy. Here we are all together like one family,
with hearts united, all strong with the purpose
to reach our homes. See this river; it is the
road to Zanzibar. When saw you a road so
wide? When did you journey along a path
like this? Strike your paddles deep, cry out
Bismillah! and let us forward.”
Poor fellows! with what wan smiles they responded
to my words! How feebly they paddled!
But the strong flood was itself bearing us along,
and the Vinya-Njara villages were fast, receding
into distance.
Then I urged my boat’s crew, knowing that
thus we should tempt the canoes to quicker pace.
Three or four times Uledi, the coxswain, gallantly
attempted to sing, in order to invite a