_May 6._—When the hysterical congratulations of the Expedition had somewhat slackened, Prince Kaduma and the friends of Saramba, the guide (who was now quite a hero), and Frank accompanied me to my hut—the dogs Jack and Bull following—to give me a brief narrative of the events that had transpired. Fred Barker, according to Frank, had good health till the middle of April; after which he began to experience aguish fits. On the 22nd he had enjoyed a hippopotamus hunt on the shore between Kagehyi and Lutari, and on the morning of the 23rd had bathed in the lake and eaten a hearty early breakfast. At 9 A.M., however, he complained of feeling ill, and lay down. Almost immediately a cold fit seized him, and his blood seemed to stagnate in its veins. Frank and Barker’s servants employed their utmost art to increase the warmth of his body. They administered brandy and hot tea, put heated stones to his feet, and piled blanket after blanket upon him, but the congealed blood would not run, and at 11 A.M. the poor young man was dead. “At 3 P.M. we buried him,” said Frank, “close to the Nyanza. Poor fellow! many and many a time he said during the last few days, ‘I wish the master would come back. I should then feel as if there were some chance of life for me, but I shall die stagnating and rotting here if he does not come.’ I think, Sir, he would have pulled through had you been here.” I missed young Barker very much. He had begun to endear himself to me by his bright intelligence and valuable services. When ill, my least wish was immediately gratified: he understood the least motion or sign. He was also a good writer, and he kept the accounts of the various stores, cloths, and beads. He was an admirable companion to Frank, and the two young men were good company for me; they had also won the hearts of the Wangwana by their gentle, amiable conduct. An oath or a profane word I seldom heard from either of them; and when angry, their anger at the stupidity or insolence of the people was of the passive kind; they never resorted to violence without appealing to me. But Frank had other bad news to tell. Mabruki Speke, whom Burton called the bull-headed—the faithful servant of Burton and Speke, Speke and Grant, of myself on the first expedition, of Livingstone on his last journey, and one of the most trusted men of my present following from Zanzibar to Lake Victoria—was dead. Jabiri (one of the stout boat-bearers) was dead, and so was old Akida, besides three others. All had died of dysentery. Msenna the “bully of Zanzibar” had broken out once more, after nearly six months of good behaviour. I arrived at Kagehyi on the 5th of May from the exploration of the lake; on the 6th he was to have led a body of sixty men to Unyanyembé, if the master did not return!