on board an American whaling vessel, bound for Zanzibar;
at which port we arrived on the 6th of January, 1871.

I have skimmed over my travels thus far, because these do not
concern the reader. They led over many lands, but this book is
only a narrative of my search after Livingstone, the great
African traveller. It is an Icarian flight of journalism, I
confess; some even have called it Quixotic; but this is a word I
can now refute, as will be seen before the reader arrives at the
"Finis."

I have used the word "soldiers" in this book. The armed escort a
traveller engages to accompany him into East Africa is composed of
free black men, natives of Zanzibar, or freed slaves from the
interior, who call themselves "askari," an Indian name which,
translated, means "soldiers." They are armed and equipped like
soldiers, though they engage themselves also as servants; but it
would be more pretentious in me to call them servants, than to use
the word "soldiers;" and as I have been more in the habit of
calling them soldiers than "my watuma"--servants--this habit has
proved too much to be overcome. I have therefore allowed the word
"soldiers " to appear, accompanied, however, with this apology.

But it must be remembered that I am writing a narrative of my own
adventures and travels, and that until I meet Livingstone, I
presume the greatest interest is attached to myself, my marches,
my troubles, my thoughts, and my impressions. Yet though I may
sometimes write, "my expedition," or "my caravan," it by no
means follows that I arrogate to myself this right. For it must
be distinctly understood that it is the "`New York Herald'