magnificent country abounding in
game, and lotus leaves floated on the smooth water. The sun sinks and
the moon soars above the mimosa trees, the river shines like a silver
mirror, antelopes are on the watch for the dangers of the night. Within
the enclosure of the camp the black men sit gnawing at the bones of a
newly-shot zebra. But when it is time to set out again from the
comfortable camp, the porters would rather remain where they are and
enjoy themselves, and when the horn sounds they go sullenly and slowly
to their loads. After half an hour's march they halt, throw down their
loads, and begin to whisper in threatening groups. Two insubordinate
ruffians lie in wait with their rifles aimed at Stanley, who at once
raises his gun and threatens to shoot them on the spot if they do not
immediately drop their rifles. The mutiny ends without bloodshed, and
the men promise again to go on steadily to Lake Tanganyika, according to
their agreement.

Now Stanley is in a forest tract where cattle of all kinds are pestered
by the tsetse fly, and where the small honey bird flies busily about
among the trees. It is like the common grey sparrow, but somewhat
larger, and has a yellow spot on each shoulder. It receives its name
from its habit of flying in short flights just in front of the natives
to guide them to the nests of wild bees, in order to get its share of
the honey. When a man follows it, he must not make a noise to frighten
it, but only whistle gently, that the bird may know that its intention
is understood. As it comes nearer to the wild bees' nest, it takes
shorter flights, and when it is come to the spot, it sits on a branch
and waits. Stanley says that the honey bird is a great friend of the
natives, and that they follow it at once when it calls them.

Stanley now turned northwards to a river which flows into Lake
Tanganyika. The caravan was carried over in small frail boats, and the
asses which still survived had to swim. When the foremost of them came
to the middle of the river he was seen to stop a moment, apparently
struggling, and then he went down, a whirlpool forming above his head.
He had been seized by a crocodile.

A caravan which came from Ujiji reported that there was a white man in
that country. "Hurrah, it is Livingstone! It must be Livingstone!"
thought Stanley. His eagerness and zeal were stimulated to the
uttermost, and he offered his porters extra pay to induce them to make
longer marches. Eventu