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
Armies of red ants would sometimes invade the fort from the clearing;
their columns were not interrupted by the ditch. In long, thick, unbroken
lines, guarded by soldiers on either flank, the innumerable insects would
descend the ditch and ascend the opposite sides, over the parapets,
through the interstices of the poles, over the banquette, and down into
the plaza of the fort, some columns attacking the kitchen, others
headquarters, the officers' mess-house, and woe betide any unlucky naked
foot treading upon a myriad. Better a flogging with nettles, or cayenne
over an excoriated body, or a caustic bath for a ravenous itch, than
these biting and venomous thousands climbing up the limbs and body,
burying themselves in the hair of the head, and plunging their shining,
horny mandibles into the flesh, creating painful pustules with every
bite. Every living thing seems disturbed at their coming. Men are
screaming, bellowing with pain, dancing, and writhing. There is a general
rustle, as of a host of migrant creatures among the crisp dry phrynia
leaves overhead. The rats and mice, snakes, beetles, and crickets are
moving. From a slung cot I have observed, by candle-light, the avengers
advancing over the floor of my house, scaling the walls, searching the
recesses of every layer of leaves, skirmishing among the nooks and
crannies, mouse-holes, and cracks; heard moaning and crying of little
blind mice, and terrified squealing of motherly and paternal rats, and
hailed them as a blessing, encouraging them along on their career of
destruction, until presently some perverse and undisciplined tribes would
drop from the roof on my cot, and convert their well-wisher into a
vindictive enemy, who, in his rage, would call aloud for hot glowing
embers and roast them alive by thousands, until the air was heavy with
the odour of frizzling and frying ants. Bad luck to them!
While digging in the stiff yellow clay, to form the ditch, we have come
across burnt wood in the hard compacted material, 5 feet below the
surface of the humus. Yet there were stately trees, 100, 150, and 200
years old, above. The site was level, and apparently undisturbed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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