Writing to his son Thomas, 1st February, 1867, he complains again of his terrible hunger:
The people have nothing to sell but a little millet-porridge and mushrooms. "Woe is me! good enough to produce fine dreams of the roast beef of old England, but nothing else. I have become very thin, though I was so before; but now, if you weighed me, you might calculate very easily how much you might get for the bones. But--we got a cow yesterday, and I am to get milk to-morrow.... I grieve to write it, poor poodle 'Chitane' was drowned" [15th January, in the Chimbwé]; "he had to cross a marsh a mile wide, and waist-deep.... I went over first, and forgot to give directions about the dog--all were too much engaged in keeping their balance to notice that he swam among them till he died. He had more spunk than a hundred country dogs--took charge of the whole line of march, ran to see the first in the line, then back to the last, and barked to haul him up; then, when he knew what hut I occupied, would not let a country cur come in sight of it, and never stole himself. We have not had any difficulties with the people, made many friends, imparted a little knowledge sometimes, and raised a protest against slavery very widely."
The year 1867 was signalized by a great calamity, and by two important geographical feats. The calamity was the loss of his medicine-chest. It had been intrusted to one of his most careful people; but, without authority, a carrier hired for the day took it and some other things to carry for the proper bearer, then bolted, and neither carrier nor box could be found. "I felt," says Livingstone, "as if I had now received the sentence of death, like poor Bishop Mackenzie." With the medicine-chest was lost the power of treating himself in fever with the medicine that had proved so effectual. We find him not long after in a state of insensibility, trying to raise himself from the ground, falling back with all his weight, and knocking his head upon a box. The loss of the medicine-box was probably the beginning of the end; his system lost the wonderful power of recovery which it had hitherto shown; and other ailments--in the lungs, the feet, and the bowels, that might have been kept under in a more vigorous state of general health, began hereafter to prevail against him.
The two geographical feats were--his first sight of Lake Tanganyika, and his discovery of Lake Moero. In April he reached Lake Liemba, as the lower part of Tanganyika was called. The scenery was wonderfully beautiful, and the air of the whole region remarkably peaceful. The want of medicine made an illness here very severe; on recovering, he would have gone down the lake, but was dissuaded, in consequence of his hearing that a chief was killing all that came that way. He therefore returns to Chitimba's, and resolves to explore Lake Moero, believing that there the question of the watershed would be decided, At Chitimba's, he is detained upward of three months, in consequence of the disturbed state of the country. At last he gets the escort of some Arab traders, who show him much kindness, but again he is prostrated by illness, and at length he reaches Lake Moero, 8th November, 1867. He hears of another lake, called Bembo or Bangweolo, and to hear of it is to resolve to see it. But he is terribly wearied with two years' traveling without having heard from home, and he thinks he must first go to Ujiji, for letters and stores. Meanwhile, as the traders are going to Casembe's, he accompanies them thither. Casembe he finds to be a fierce chief, who rules his people with great tyranny, cutting off their ears, and even their hands, for the most trivial offenses. Persons so mutilated, seen in his village, excite a feeling of horror. This chief was not one easily got at, but Livingstone believed that he gained an influence with him, only he could not quite overcome his prejudice against him. The year 1867 ended with another severe attack of illness.