If I had done wrong, the only restitution possible for me to make was to nurse him patiently and tenderly to the end, or till health and strength should return. This was conscientiously done, and I have the comfort of knowing that the last sad days of his life were soothed by every care that kindness could suggest. Hour after hour during that time he lay silent and content upon my lap. That appeared to be a panacea to all his pains. He would roll his dark brown eyes up and look into my face, as if to be assured that I had been restored to him. With his long fingers he stroked my face as if to say that he was again happy. He took the medicines I gave him as if he knew their purpose and effect. His suffering was not intense, but he bore it like a philosopher. He seemed to have some vague idea of his own condition, but I do not know that he foresaw the result. He lingered on from day to day for a whole week, slowly sinking and growing feebler, but his love for me was manifest to the last, and I dare confess that I returned it with all my heart. Is it wrong that I should requite such devotion and fidelity with reciprocal emotion? No. I should not deserve the love of any creature if I were indifferent to the love of Moses. That affectionate little creature had lived with me in the dismal shadows of that primeval forest for so many long days and dreary nights; had romped and played with me when far away from the pleasures of home, and had been a constant friend alike through sunshine and storm. To say that I did not love him would be to confess myself an ingrate unworthy of my race. The last spark of life passed away in the night. It was not attended by acute pain or struggling, but, falling into a deep and quiet sleep, he woke no more. Moses will live in history. He deserves to do so, because he was the first of his race that ever spoke a word of human speech; because he was the first that ever conversed in his own language with a human being; and because he was the first that ever signed his name to any document; and Fame will not deny him a niche in her temple among the heroes who have led the races of the world. CHAPTER IX AARON Having arranged my affairs in Fernan Vaz so as to make a journey across the great forest that lies to the south of the Nkami country and separates it from that of the Esyira tribe, I set out by canoe to a point on the Rembo about three days from the place where I had so long lived in my cage. At a village called Tyimba I disembarked, and after a journey of five days and a delay of three more days caused by an attack of fever, I arrived at a trading station near the head of a small river called Ndogo. It empties into the sea at Sette Kama, about four degrees south of the equator. The trading post is about a hundred miles inland, at a native village called Ntyi-ne-nye-ni, which, strange to say, means in the native tongue, "Some other place." [Illustration: TRADING STATION IN THE INTERIOR]