the preceding fortnight or three weeks. Those who read the following
pages will, I think, reject all idea that my father was in a state of
delirium, not without surprise that any one should have ever entertained
it.

It was Chowbok who, if he did not originate these calumnies, did much to
disseminate and gain credence for them. He remained in England for some
years, and never tired of doing what he could to disparage my father. The
cunning creature had ingratiated himself with our leading religious
societies, especially with the more evangelical among them. Whatever
doubt there might be about his sincerity, there was none about his
colour, and a coloured convert in those days was more than Exeter Hall
could resist. Chowbok saw that there was no room for him and for my
father, and declared my poor father's story to be almost wholly false. It
was true, he said, that he and my father had explored the head-waters of
the river described in his book, but he denied that my father had gone on
without him, and he named the river as one distant by many thousands of
miles from the one it really was. He said that after about a fortnight
he had returned in company with my father, who by that time had become
incapacitated for further travel. At this point he would shrug his
shoulders, look mysterious, and thus say "alcoholic poisoning" even more
effectively than if he had uttered the words themselves. For a man's
tongue lies often in his shoulders.

Readers of my father's book will remember that Chowbok had given a very
different version when he had returned to his employer's station; but
Time and Distance afford cover under which falsehood can often do truth
to death securely.

I never understood why my father did not bring my mother forward to