In Darkest Africa, Vol. 1; or, The Quest, Rescue, and Retreat of Emin, Governor of EquatoriaStanley, Henry M. (Henry Morton)
History
In Darkest Africa, Vol. 1; or, The Quest, Rescue, and Retreat of Emin, Governor of Equatoria
Stanley, Henry M. (Henry Morton)
Africa, Central -- Description and travel; Emin Pasha, 1840-1892
The next day left the track and struck through the huge towering forest
and jungly undergrowth by compass. My position in this column was the
third from the leader, so that I could direct the course. In order to
keep a steady movement, even if slow, I had to instruct the cutters that
each man as he walked should choose an obstructing lliané, or obtrusive
branch of bush, and give one sharp cut and pass on--the two head men were
confining themselves to an effective and broad "blaze" on the trees,
every ten yards or so, for the benefit of the column, and, as the rear
party would not follow us for perhaps two months, we were very particular
that these "blazes" should be quite a hand's-breadth peel of bark.
Naturally penetrating a trackless wild for the first time the march was
at a funereal pace, in some places at the rate of 400 yards an hour, in
other more open portions, that is of less undergrowth, we could travel at
the rate of half, three-quarters, and even a mile per hour--so that from
6.30 A.M. to 11 A.M. when we halted for lunch and rest, and from 12.30
P.M., to 3 o'clock or 4 P.M. in from six to seven hours per day, we could
make a march of about five miles. On the usual African track seen in
other regions we could have gone from fourteen to eighteen miles during
the same time. Therefore our object was to keep by settlements, not only
to be assured of food, but in the hope of utilizing the native roads. We
shall see later how we fared.
At 4 P.M. of this day we were still on the march, having passed through a
wilderness of creeks, mud, thick scum-faced quagmires green with duckweed
into which we sank knee-deep, and the stench exhaled from the fetid
slough was most sickening. We had just emerged out of this baneful
stretch of marshy ground, intersected by lazy creeks and shallow long
stream-shaped pools, when the forest became suddenly darkened, so dark
that I could scarcely read the compass, and a distant murmur increasing
into loud soughing and wrestling and tossing of branches and groaning of
mighty trees warned us of the approach of a tempest. As the ground round
about was most uninviting, we had to press on through the increasing
gloom, and then, as the rain began to drip, we commenced to form camp.
The tents were hastily pitched over the short scrubby bush, while
bill-hooks crashed and axes rang, clearing a space for the camp. The rain
was cold and heavily dripped, and every drop, large as a dollar on their
cotton clothes, sent a shiver through the men. The thunder roared above,
the lightning flashed a vivid light of fire through the darkness, and
still the weary hungry caravan filed in until 9 o'clock. The rain was so
heavy that fires could not be lit, and until three in the morning we sat
huddled and crouching amid the cold, damp, and reeking exhalations and
minute spray. Then bonfires were kindled, and around these scores of
flaming pyramids the people sat, to be warmed into hilarious animation,
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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