On our arrival they immediately approached and fired salutes with ball cartridge, as usual advancing close to us and discharging their guns into the ground at our feet.

One of my servants, Mahomet, was riding an ox, and an old friend of his in the crowd happening to recognize him immediately advanced and saluted him by firing his gun into the earth directly beneath the belly of the ox he was riding.
The effect produced made the crowd and ourselves explode with laughter.
The nervous ox, terrified at the sudden discharge between his legs, gave a tremendous kick, and continued madly kicking and plunging, until Mahomet was pitched over his head and lay sprawling on the ground.

This scene terminated the expedition.
Dismounting from our tired oxen, our first inquiry was concerning boats and letters.

What was the reply?
Neither boats, letters, supplies, nor any intelligence of friends or the civilized world! We had long since been given up as dead by the inhabitants of Khartoum, and by all those who understood the difficulties and dangers of the country.

We were told that some people had suggested that we might possibly have gone to Zanzibar, but the general opinion was that we had all been killed.
At this cold and barren reply I felt almost choked.