22 _ THE LAND OF THE LION 
£200, or $1,000. This speaks for itself.) Sefaris had, 
therefore, to get food by the way, or perish. 
It is but fair to try to put ourselves in the place of the 
stranger, travelling in those, not so far away days, before 
we judge him too harshly. He was, in part at least, the 
victim of circumstances, the reaper of other men’s sowing. 
He is in dire need, his two or three hundred men must be 
fed. He offers barter, wants to buy. The owners still 
refuse. Nothing is left to him, then, but to arm his men 
and take the precious meal by force. So he goes on his 
way, relieved for a time, but discontent and anger dog his 
footsteps, and he leaves his bills unpaid behind him, to 
be met by the unfortunate next comer. 
The result of such a state of things was misery unspeak- 
able to the inhabitants, and danger and demoralization to 
the traveller. Yes, demoralization, I say. Africa has 
demoralized many a man, not a weakling either. She 
seems to do so still. But in these days I speak of, less 
than fifteen years ago, men fell under her evil spell of 
prevalent lawlessness all too readily. If the truth were 
known about the many expeditions undertaken for sport 
or even for exploration (except certain world-famous ones 
undertaken for rescue and relief), it would make gruesome 
reading. All higher honour, then, to that small band of 
truly great and brotherly men, who, like Livingston, and 
Bishop Harrington, would sooner starve than take one 
pound of food by force from ignorant savagery. 
Sefaris left Zanzibar several hundred strong, and 
crawled back in one, two, three, years, less by one-third, 
two-thirds, sometimes smaller still. What wonder! ‘The 
porters on whose perseverance every one’s life depended 
were poor beasts of burden merely. They had no shelter 
from the cold rains of the higher plateaux so fatal to the 
coast natives; no provision for the wounded, no medicine 
for the sick. The koboko was their one counsellor and 
