When the bugle sounded the signal to “Take the road,” the Wanyamwezi and Wangwana responded to it with cheers, and loud cries of “Ay, indeed, ay, indeed, please God;” and their goodwill was contagious. The natives, who had mustered strongly to witness our departure, were affected by it, and stimulated our people by declaring that the lake was not very far off— “but two or three hours’ walk.” [Illustration: MNYAMWEZI PAGAZI.] We dipped into the basins and troughs of the land, surmounted ridge after ridge, crossed watercourses and ravines, passed by cultivated fields, and through villages smelling strongly of cattle, by good-natured groups of natives, until, ascending a long gradual slope, we heard, on a sudden, hurrahing in front, and then we too, with the lagging rear, knew that those in the van were in view of the Great Lake! Frank Pocock impetuously strode forward until he gained the brow of the hill. He took a long sweeping look at something, waved his hat, and came down towards us, his face beaming with joy, as he shouted out enthusiastically with the fervour of youth and high spirits, “I have seen the Lake, Sir, and it is grand!” Frederick Barker, riding painfully on an ass, and sighing wearily from illness and the length of the journey, lifted his head to smile his thanks to his comrade. Presently we also reached the brow of the hill, where we found the expedition halted, and the first quick view revealed to us a long broad arm of water, which a dazzling sun transformed into silver, some 600 feet below us, at the distance of three miles. A more careful and detailed view of the scene showed us that the hill on which we stood sloped gradually to the broad bay or gulf edged by a line of green wavy reeds and thin groves of umbrageous trees scattered along the shore, on which stood several small villages of conical huts. Beyond these, the lake stretched like a silvery plain far to the eastward, and away across to a boundary of dark blue hills and mountains, while several grey rocky islets mocked us at first with an illusion of Arab dhows with white sails. The Wanyamwezi struck up the song of triumph:— Sing, O friends, sing; the journey is ended: Sing aloud, O friends; sing to the great Nyanza. Sing all, sing loud, O friends, sing to the great sea; Give your last look to the lands behind and then turn to the sea. Long time ago you left your lands, Your wives and children, your brothers and your friends; Tell me, have you seen a sea like this Since you left the great salt sea? CHORUS. Then sing, O friends, sing; the journey is ended: Sing aloud, O friends; sing to this great sea. This sea is fresh, is good, and sweet; Your sea is salt, and bad, unfit to drink. This sea is like wine to drink for thirsty men, The salt sea—bah! it makes men sick.