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He hobbled, barefoot, across jagged rock, down a slope, and ontothe shingle of the beach. Somehow, he started to run. What tattersof clothing remained on him streamed behind.
The Somali snatched up the spear and gave chase, threw theweapon, missed, and gave up.
Other tribesmen lunged for the Englishman but Speke dodged themand kept going. He outdistanced his pursuers and, when he saw thatthey'd given up the chase, he collapsed onto a rock and chewedthrough the cord that bound his wrists.
He was faint with shock and loss of blood but knew that he hadto find his companions, so, as dawn broke, he pushed on until hereached Berbera. Here he was discovered by a search party led byLieutenant Herne and was carried to the boat at the mouth of thecreek. He'd run for three miles and had eleven wounds, includingthe two that had pierced the large muscles of his thighs.
They placed him onto a seat and he raised his head and looked atthe man sitting opposite. It was Burton, his face bandaged, bloodstaining the linen over his cheeks.
Their eyes met.
"I'm no damned coward," whispered Speke.
The battle should have made them brothers. They both acted as ifit hadand less than two years later they embarked together on oneof the greatest expeditions in British history: a perilous trekinto central Africa to search for the source of the Nile.
Side by side, they endured extreme conditions, penetrating intolands unseen by white men and skirting dangerously close to Death'srealm. An infection temporarily blinded and immobilised Burton.Speke became permanently deaf in one ear after attempting to removean insect from it with a penknife. They were both stricken withmalaria, dysentery, and crippling ulcers.
They pressed on.
Speke's resentment simmered.
He constructed his own history of the Berbera incident, excisingfrom it the most essential element: the fact that a thrown stonehad cracked against his kneecap, causing him to step back into theRowtie's entrance. Burton had looked around at that very instantand had plainly seen the stone bounce off Speke's knee andunderstood the back-step for the reaction it was. He'd never forone moment doubted his companion's courage.
Speke knew the stone had been seen but chose to forget it.History, he discovered, is what you make it.
They reached the central lakes.
Burton explored a large body of water called by the local tribes"Tanganyika," which lay to the south of the Mountains of the Moon.His geographical readings suggested that it could be the Nile'ssource, though he was too ill to visit its northernmost shore fromwhence the great river should flow.
Speke, leaving his "brother" in a fevered delirium, trekkednortheastward and found himself at the shore of a vast lake, whichhe imperiously named after the British monarch, though the tribesthat lived on its shores already had a name for it: "Nyanza."
He tried to circle it, lost sight of it, found it again fartherto the northor was it the shore of a second lake?-took incomplete,incompetent measurements, and returned to Burton, the leader of theexpedition, claiming to have found, on his own and without a shadowof a doubt, the true source of the great river.
They recovered a modicum of health and undertook the long marchback to Zanzibar where Burton fell into a fit of despondency,blaming himself for what, by his demanding standards, wasinconclusive evidence.
John Speke, less scientific, less scrupulous, less disciplined,sailed back to England ahead of Burton and en route fell under theinfluence of a man named Laurence Oliphant, an arch-meddler andposeur who kept a white panther as a pet. Oliphant nurtured Speke'spique, turned it into malice, and seduced him into claimingvictory. No matter that it was the other man's expedition; Spekehad solved the biggest geographical riddle of the age!
John Speke's last words to Burton had been "Good-bye, oldfellow; you may be quite sure I shall not go up to the RoyalGeographical Society until you have come to the fore and we appeartogether. Make your mind quite easy about that."
The day he landed in England, Speke went straight up to theRoyal Geo graphical Society and told Sir Roderick Murchison thatthe Nile question was settled.
The Society divided. Some of its members supported Burton,others supported Speke. Mischief makers stepped in to ensure thatwhat should have been a scientific debate rapidly degenerated intoa personal feud, though Burton, now recovering his health in Aden,was barely aware of this.
Easily swayed, Speke became overconfident. He began to criticiseBurton's character, a dangerous move for a man who believed thathis cowardice had been witnessed by his opponent.
Word reached Burton that he was to be awarded a knighthood andshould return to England at once. He did so, and stepped ashore tofind himself at the centre of a maelstrom.
Even as the reclusive monarch's representative touched the swordto his shoulders and dubbed him Sir Richard Francis Burton, thefamous explorer's thoughts were on John Speke, wondering why he wastaking the offensive in such a ma
Over the following weeks, Burton defended himself but resistedthe temptation to retaliate.
Life is fickle; the fair man doesn't invariably win.
Lieutenant Speke, it gradually became apparent, had made a luckyguess: the Nyanza probably was the source of the Nile.
Murchison knew, as Burton had been quick to point out, thatSpeke's readings and calculations were badly faulted. In fact, theywere downright amateurish and not at all admissible as scientificevidence. Nevertheless, there was in them the suggestion of apotential truth. This was enough; the Society funded a secondexpedition.
John Speke went back to Africa, this time with a young, loyal,and opinion-free soldier named James Grant. He explored the Nyanza,failed to circumnavigate it, didn't find the Nile's exit point,didn't take accurate measurements, and returned to England withanother catalogue of assumptions which Burton, with icy efficiency,proceeded to pick to pieces.
A face-to-face confrontation between the two men seemedinevitable.
It was gleefully engineered by Oliphant, who had, by this time,mysteriously vanished from the public eye-into an opium den,according to rumour-to pull strings like an invisiblepuppeteer.
He arranged for the Bath Assembly Rooms to be the venue andSeptember 16, 1861, the date. To encourage Burton's participation,he made it publicly known that Speke had said: "If Burton dares toappear on the platform at Bath, I will kick him!"
Burton had fallen for it: "That settles it! By God, he shallkick me!"
The hansom drew up outside the Royal Hotel, and Burton's mindreengaged with the present. He emerged from the cab with one ideauppermost: someday, Laurence Oliphant would pay.
He entered the hotel. The receptionist signalled to him; amessage from Isabel was waiting.
He took the note and read it:
John was taken to London. On my way to Fullers' to find outexactly where.
Burton gritted his teeth. Stupid woman! Did she think she'd bewelcomed by Speke's family? Did she honestly believe they'd tellher anything about his condition or whereabouts? As much as heloved her, Isabel's impatience and lack of subtlety never failed torile him. She was the proverbial bull in a china shop, alwayscharging at her target without considering anything that might liein her path, always utterly confident that what she wanted to dowas right, whatever anyone else might think.
He wrote a terse reply:
Left for London. Pay, pack, and follow.
He looked up at the hotel receptionist. "Please give this toMiss Arundell when she returns. Do you have a Bradshaw?"
"Traditional or atmospheric railway, sir?"
"Atmospheric."