CHAP. XIX.] 
FAREWELL TO AFRICA . 
509 
their own heads ; theirs is all real—all their own— 
how beautiful!” 
“ Yes, Richarn,” I replied, “ all their own /” This 
was my first introduction to the “ chignon.” 
We arrived at Cairo, and I established Richarn and 
his wife in a comfortable situation, as private servants 
to Mr. Zech, the master of Sheppard’s Hotel. The cha¬ 
racter I gave him was one that I trust has done him 
service : he had shewn an extraordinary amount of 
moral courage in totally reforming from his original 
habit of drinking. I left my old servant with a heart 
too full to say good-bye ; a warm squeeze of his rough, 
but honest black hand, and the whistle of the train 
sounded,—we were off! 
I had left Richarn, and none remained of my people. 
The past appeared like a dream—the rushing sound of 
the train renewed ideas of civilization. Had I really 
come from the Nile Sources ? It was no dream. A 
witness sat before me; a face still young, but bronzed 
like an Arab with years of exposure to a burning sun; 
haggard and worn with toil and sickness, and shaded 
with cares, happily now past; the devoted companion 
of my pilgrimage to whom I owed success and life— 
my wife. 
I had received letters from England, that had been 
waiting at the British Consulate;—the first I opened 
informed me, that the Royal Geographical Society had 
awarded me the Victoria Gold Medal, at a time when 
they were unaware whether I was alive or dead, and 
when the success of my expedition was unknown. 
This appreciation of my exertions was the warmest 
welcome that I could have received on my first entrance 
into civilization after so many years of savagedom : it 
rendered the completion of the Nile sources doubly 
grateful, as I had fulfilled the expectations that the 
Geographical Society had so generously expressed by 
the presentation of their medal before my task was 
done. 
