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
Some facts had already impressed themselves upon us. We observed that the
mornings were muggy and misty--that we were chilly and inclined to be
cheerless in consequence; that it required some moral courage to leave
camp to brave the cold, damp, and fogginess without, to brave the mud and
slush, to ford creeks up to the waist in water; that the feelings were
terribly depressed in the dismal twilight from the want of brightness
and sunshine warmth; and the depression caused by the sombre clouds and
dull grey river which reflected the drear daylight. The actual
temperature on these cold mornings was but seventy to seventy-two
degrees--had we judged of it by our cheerlessness it might have been
twenty degrees less.
The refuse heaps of the little villages were large and piled on the edge
of the bank. They were a compost of filth, sweepings of streets and huts,
peelings of manioc, and often of plantains with a high heap of
oyster-shells. Had I not much else to write about, an interesting chapter
on these composts, and the morals, manners, and usages of the aborigines
might be written. Just as Owen could prefigure an extinct mammoth of the
dead ages from the view of a few bones, the history of a tribe could be
developed by me out of these refuse heaps. Revelling in these fetid
exhalations were representatives of many insect tribes. Columns of ants
wound in and out with more exact formation than aborigines could compose
themselves, flies buzz in myriads over the heaps, with the murmur of
enjoyment, butterflies which would have delighted Jameson's soul swarmed
exulting in their gorgeous colours, and a perfect cloud of moths hovered
above all.
The villages of the Bakuti were reached on the 7th, after seven hours'
slow marching and incessant cutting. I occupied a seat in the boat on
this day and observed that the banks were from six to ten feet above the
river on either side, that there were numerous traces of former
occupation easily detected despite the luxuriance of the young forest
that had grown up and usurped the space once occupied by villages and
fields; that either wars or epidemics had disturbed the inhabitants
twenty years ago, and that as yet only one crocodile had been seen on the
Aruwimi, and only one hippo, which I took to be a sure sign that there
was not much pasture in this region.
As the rowers urged the boat gently up the stream, and I heard the
bill-hooks and axes carving away through bush and brake tangle and
forest without which scarcely a yard of progress could be made, I
regretted more than ever that I had not insisted on being allowed to
carry out my own plan of having fifteen whale-boats. What toil would have
been saved, and what anxiety would have been spared me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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