This was on the twenty-eighth of June, 1887, and until the fifth of December, one hundred and sixty days, the expedition traversed woods and thickets without seeing a bit of grassland. For miles nothing could be seen but forests of trees of various ages and heights, with more or less thick underbrush. For the first time a hitherto unknown region was exposed to the gaze of civilized man. The march was entirely conjectural, as it led through a hitherto untrodden and pathless wilderness and in some places it dragged along like a funeral procession. Its difficulties were increased by frequent rainstorms, which in that region are like a deluge. They are also accompanied by violent winds, which shake the countless branches so that they drench man and beast with an additional downpour and rage as if they would tear the trees up by the roots. Their fear was still further increased by terrible peals of thunder reverberating through the forest and the lightning flashes hurtling through the air and sometimes taking the form of exploding bolts. It was a great relief when the sick and injured were at last delivered from this elemental strife which Stanley said was more dreadful than a European battle. His men seemed to be almost paralyzed by fear, suffering, sickness, loss of friends, hunger, rain, thunder, and general wretchedness. They sought shelter under banana trees, shields of the natives, woollen covers, straw mats, earthen and copper pots, saddles, tent covers, each one enveloped in a blue mist and completely overcome by speechless terror. The poor donkeys, with ears thrown back, closed eyes, and drooping heads, and the caged fowl, with their bedraggled feathers, added to the general wretchedness of appearance. Hunger, sickness, and wounds from the thorns in the woods disabled many. They were also exposed to the poisoned arrows of lurking savages. One or another of the carriers would disappear, taking his valuable pack with him. Each day some were prostrated by exhaustion, never to rise again. It was almost unendurable misery, and yet the cry was “forward, forward.” During the days that were free from rain, an unnatural darkness prevailed in the forest. The travellers now encountered slippery tree trunks, bridging over dangerous abysses, which threatened to pierce them with the sharp points of their projecting dead branches as they rushed down hillsides upon them. Upon one of these they had to cross a rushing stream, balancing themselves upon its slippery surface. Anon they plunged into a thicket, where they were nearly suffocated by the myriads of tangled vines and bushes that coiled about them. Soon they came to a morass whose dangerous depths were concealed by floating plants and scum. At every step their difficulties so increased that Stanley at last declared they had done enough for the day and would pitch camp.