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“In my opinion, they're the Mountains of the Moon.”
“That's not possible. All the natives say the Mountains of theMoon are far away to the northeast of here.”
“Sheik Hamed's people say otherwise. They've been to thenorthern shore, in the shadow of that range.”
“And the Rusizi? Do you mean to suggest that it flows out ofTanganyika and up into the mountains?”
Speke shifted in his seat. “I don't know,” he muttered.
“Besides, if they're as big as legend suggests, surely we'd beable to see the distant peaks from here?”
“Maybe the land slopes down beyond the northern shore, so thepeaks are actually below the horizon?”
Burton could barely believe his ears. What on earth was hiscompanion babbling about?
He turned the page and they continued to work, but Speke rapidlylost interest and said: “That's enough for now. I'm going for awalk.”
He left the hut and, some minutes later, Burton heard rifleshots-more animals falling to his companion's bloodlust.
The increasingly humid, sweaty days passed.
With his health continuing to improve, Burton decided to risk aforay onto the lake. He borrowed two large canoes from the Ujijinatives and instructed Sidi Bombay to have them loaded withsupplies and crewed by the strongest oarsmen.
“Aren't you too sick for this?” Speke asked.
“I'm fine. And we must establish for certain which way theRusizi flows. Hearsay is not enough. I have to see it with my owneyes.”
“I think we should wait until you're stronger.”
Burton ground his teeth in vexation. “Dash it all, John! Why areyou suddenly so reluctant to see this expedition through?”
“I'm not!” Speke protested. His attitude, though, remained surlyas the two canoes were launched, with Burton in the first and himin the second.
On choppy water, the crew paddled northward.
The weather broke. They were by turns soaked by torrential rain,baked by ferocious sun, and battered by downpours again.
They put ashore at a village named Uvira, where the oarsmen fromUjiji mutinied.
“They have much fear,” Sidi Bombay explained. “People in villagesay we be killed if we go more north. Tribes there very bad. Alwaysmake war.”
Then came a terrible blow: “Boss man here say Rusizi come inlake, not go out.”
“Sheikh Hamed claimed otherwise!” Burton cried.
Sidi Bombay shook his head. “No, no. Mr. Speke he no understandwhat Sheikh Hamed say.”
Despondency settled over Burton.
The lieutenant avoided him.
The explorers turned around and returned to Ujiji. From there,they trudged back inland to a village named Kawele.
Burton rallied. He felt sure that with the evidence he'd so farcollected, he could raise sponsorship for a second, more fullyequipped expedition-and, by God, he'd bring a better travellingcompanion!
“I'd like to circumnavigate Tanganyika,” he told Speke, “but weshould save what's left of our supplies for the trek back toZanzibar. If our furlough ends before we report to the RGS, we'lllose our commissions.”
“Agreed,” the lieutenant answered stiffly.
So, on the 26th of May, they began the long march eastward,reaching Unyanyembe in mid-June, where a mailbag awaited them. Oneof its letters revealed to Burton that his father had died tenmonths previously, and another that his brother, Edward, had beensavagely beaten in India and had suffered severe head injuries.
His despondency deepened into depression.
They slogged on over the endless sava
Speke encouraged Burton to take Saltzma
Death hung oppressively over this part of Africa-and it wantedthem.
One day, Speke came to Burton and told him that the locals werehinting that there was a huge body of water fifteen or sixteenmarches to the north.
“We should explore it,” he said.
“I'm not well enough,” came the reply. “I'm short of breath andcan't think straight. My mind is all over the place. I don't eventrust myself to take accurate readings. Besides, we don't have thesupplies.”
“How about if I take a small party? I can travel fast and light,while you rest here and get your strength back.”
Burton, who was lying on a cot, tried to sit up and failed.
“Where's your medicine?” Speke asked. “I'll prepare you adose.”
“Thank you, John. Do you really think you can get there and backwithout eating into our provisions too much?”
“I'm certain of it.”
“Very well. Organize it and go.”
Secretly, Burton was relieved at the prospect of time apart fromhis colleague. Speke had been a thorn in his side ever since thevisit to Sheikh Hamed, and while they'd been in Kazeh, thelieutenant hadn't made a single concession to Eastern customs andetiquette, repeatedly offending their Arabian hosts and leavingBurton to explain and apologise.
His departure lifted a weight from Burton's shoulders. Theexplorer put aside his medicine and started compiling a vocabularyof the local dialects for use by future travellers. As scholarlypursuits usually did, this activity revived his spirits.
Six weeks later, Lieutenant John Ha
“There's an inland sea!” he declared, triumphantly. “They callit Nyanza or Nassa or Ziwa or Ukerewe or something-”
“ Nyanza is the Bantu word for lake, John.”
“Yes, yes-it doesn't matter; I named it after the king! I swearto God, Dick, I've discovered the source of the Nile!”
Burton asked his companion to describe all he'd seen.
It turned out that Speke had seen very little. His evidence wasmore guesswork than science. He'd been within sight of the waterfor only three days, hadn't sailed upon it, and had, in fact,observed only a small stretch of the southeastern shore.
“So how do you know its size? How do you justify calling it aninland sea? How do you know the Nile flows out of it?”
“I spoke to a local man, a great traveller.”
“Spoke?”
“Through gestures.”
Burton looked at the map his companion had sketched.
“Great heavens, man! You've set the far shore at four degreeslatitude north! Is this based on nothing more than the wave of anative's hand?”
Speke clammed up. He became increasingly cantankerous, causedarguments among the porters, and barely spoke a word to Burton.
It quickly became apparent that he'd used up more of theirsupplies than predicted. There was no way they could afford to makea diversion northward. However big the lake was, however likely thesource of the Nile, it was going to have to wait.
September arrived, and they departed Kazeh and began the longmarch back to Africa's east coast.
The ensuing weeks were unpleasant in the extreme. There werefights, disputes, thefts, accidents, and desertions. Burton wasforced to punish some of the porters and to pay off others. Theydrove him into a fury, and, on one occasion, he used a leather beltto thrash a man, then stood panting over him, confused anddisoriented, his head throbbing, hardly realizing what he haddone.
He had to push the expedition every step of the way homeward andSpeke did nothing to help. If anything, his attitude toward thenatives just made the situation worse.
The two explorers exchanged barely a word until, a month later,Speke fell seriously ill. They halted and Burton nursed him as ahigh temperature erupted into a life-threatening fever. Thelieutenant, lying in a cot, ranted and raved. He was obviously inthe grip of terrifying hallucinations.
“They have their claws in my legs!” he howled. “Dear God, saveme! I can hear it in the room above but they won't let me approach!I can't get near! My legs! My legs!”