it among my friends.  But that was not to be.  I left New York for Spain and then the Ashantee War broke out and once more my good-luck followed me and I got the treaty of peace ahead of everybody else, and as I was coming to England from the Ashantee War a telegraphic despatch was put into my hands at the Island of St. Vincent, saying that Livingstone was dead.  I said:  “What does that mean to me?  New Yorkers don’t believe in me.  How was I to prove that what I have said is true?  By George!  I will go and complete Livingstone’s work.  I will prove that the discovery of Livingstone was a mere fleabite.  I will prove to them that I am a good man and true.”  That is all that I wanted. [Loud cheers.]

I accompanied Livingstone’s remains to Westminster Abbey.  I saw those remains buried which I had left sixteen months before enjoying full life and abundant hope.  The “Daily Telegraph’s” proprietor cabled over to Bennett:  “Will you join us in sending Stanley over to complete Livingstone’s explorations?” Bennett received the telegram in New York, read it, pondered a moment, snatched a blank and wrote:  “Yes.  Bennett.”  That was my commission, and I set out to Africa intending to complete Livingstone’s explorations, also to settle the Nile problem, as to where the head-waters of the Nile were, as to whether Lake Victoria consisted of one lake, one body of water, or a number of shallow lakes; to throw some light on Sir Samuel Baker’s Albert Nyanza, and also to discover the outlet of Lake Tanganyika, and then to find out what strange, mysterious river this was which had lured Livingstone on to his death—­whether it was the Nile, the Niger, or the Congo.  Edwin Arnold, the author of “The Light of Asia,” said:  “Do you think you can do all this?” “Don’t ask me such a conundrum as that.  Put down the funds and tell me to go.  That is all.” ["Hear!  Hear!”] And he induced Lawson, the proprietor, to consent.  The funds were put down, and I went.

First of all, we settled the problem of the Victoria that it was one body of water, that instead of being a cluster of shallow lakes or marshes, it was one body of water, 21,500 square miles in extent.  While endeavoring to throw light upon Sir Samuel Baker’s Albert Nyanza, we discovered a new lake, a much superior lake to Albert Nyanza—­the dead Locust Lake—­and at the same time Gordon Pasha sent his lieutenant to discover and circumnavigate the Albert Nyanza and he found it to be only a miserable 140 miles, because Baker, in a fit of enthusiasm had stood on the brow of a high plateau and looking down on the dark blue waters of Albert Nyanza, cried romantically:  “I see it extending indefinitely toward the southwest!” Indefinitely is not a geographical expression, gentlemen. [Laughter.] We found that there was no outlet to the Tanganyika, although it was a sweet-water lake; we, settling that problem, day after day as we glided down the strange river that had lured Livingstone to his death, we were in as much doubt as Livingstone had been, when he wrote his last letter and said:  “I will never be made black man’s meat for anything less than the classic Nile.”