AUTHOR HEARS OF THE DEATH OF CAPT. SPEKE. 347 
At this point of my narrative I was arrested 
by startling intelligence : the first dark cloud 
connected with our African journey had sud- 
denly appeared. In a moment, without warn- 
ing, the devoted leader of the expedition was 
cut off in his prime, and just as he had told the 
wondrous tale of his adventurous life ! On 
the 17th of September, when engaged as usual 
in transcribing from my Journal, my apartment 
was entered by my brother-in-law, the Kev. 
Peter Mackenzie, whose countenance wore an 
unusual expression of grief. It was to break to 
me the sad news that my fellow-traveller — poor 
Speke — had been shot by the accidental dis- 
charge of his own gun. I could not realise the 
fact. Could he possibly be dead ? Was there 
no hope ? The telegraph gave us none. A few 
days only had elapsed since he and his brother 
invited me to their home in Somersetshire to 
be present at the meeting of the British Asso- 
ciation at Bath, and had I gone thither and 
been with my friend, this calamity might have 
been averted. Innumerable such thoughts hur- 
ried through my mind on the first shock of the 
melancholy tidings. It was hard to believe that 
one who had braved so much had thus fallen, 
and that his career of usefulness was run! I 
reproached myself for having silently borne all 
the taunts and doubts thrown upon his great 
discovery, the truth of which will ultimately be 
acknowledged by all but those determined to 
