Speke--handsome, manly, kindly, and straightforward--became an immense favourite with the volatile tyrant of Uganda, with the queens (for there were several queens--dowagers, mothers, consorts--at once in Uganda), with the nobles, and with the people. “My beard,” he writes, “engrossed the major part of most conversations; all the Baganda said they would come out in future with hairy faces.” The Royal Family of Uganda, he also remarks, gave orders without knowing how they were to be carried out, and treated all practical arrangements as trifling details not worth their attention; so that Speke and his caravan sometimes found themselves not very well off for food. The king or the queen-mother had said, “Let them be fed,” but ministers were not equally eager to see the royal largesse awarded. The handsome young king was extremely trying to deal with, as he put a great many questions and seldom waited for the answers. His slavish courtiers were constantly on their bellies, uttering incessant expressions of “Thank you very much” (“Niyanzi-ge”) for whatever their chief was pleased to do, say, or show to them. Not infrequently Speke intervened to save the lives of queens or pages who for a nothing were condemned to a cruel execution. On one occasion a picnic on the shores of the Victoria Nyanza was attended by the following incident. One of Mutesa’s wives,-- “a most charming creature, and truly one of the best of the lot, plucked a fruit and offered it to the king, thinking, doubtless, to please him greatly; but he, like a madman, flew into a towering passion, said it was the first time a woman had ever had the impudence to offer him anything, and ordered the pages to seize, bind, and lead her off to execution. These words were no sooner uttered by the king than the whole bevy of pages slipped their cord turbans from their heads, and rushed like a pack of cupid beagles upon the fairy queen, who, indignant at the little urchins daring to touch her majesty, remonstrated with the king, and tried to beat them off like flies, but was soon captured, overcome, and dragged away, crying on the names of the Kamuraviona and ‘Mzungu’ (myself) for help and protection; whilst Lubuga, the pet sister, and all the other women clasped the king by his legs, and kneeling, implored forgiveness for their sister. The more they craved for mercy, the more brutal he became, till at last he took a heavy stick and began to belabour the poor victim on the head. Hitherto I had been extremely careful not to interfere with any of the king’s acts of arbitrary cruelty, knowing that such interference, at an early stage, would produce more harm than good. This last act of barbarism, however, was too much for my English blood to stand; and as I heard my name, ‘Mzungu,’[70] imploringly pronounced, I rushed at the king, and staying his uplifted arm, demanded from him the woman’s life.