Stanley's Adventures in the Wilds of Africa: A Graphic Account of the Several Expeditions of Henry M. Stanley into the Heart of the Dark ContinentHeadley, Joel Tyler
History
Stanley's Adventures in the Wilds of Africa: A Graphic Account of the Several Expeditions of Henry M. Stanley into the Heart of the Dark Continent
Headley, Joel Tyler
Africa, Central -- Description and travel; Stanley, Henry M. (Henry Morton), 1841-1904
people, who were intensely excited at the news. One man, a boatman, went
crazy over it, and, shouting "we have reached the sea, we are at home,"
rushed into the woods and was never seen again. The poor wretch,
probably, lay down at last in the forest, with the groves of Zanzibar,
in imagination, just ahead of him. Sweeping downward, frequent rapids
occurred, but the expedition kept on until it reached the district of
Kilolo.
Stanley here lay down weary and hungry, but was aroused by musket-shots.
His people, starving and desperate, had scattered about, entering every
garden they saw to get something to eat, and the natives had attacked
them. Soon wounded men were brought in, whom the natives had shot.
Several had been captured whom Stanley refused to redeem, and they were
left to pine in endless captivity, never again to see the hills of
Zanzibar, as he over and over again had promised they should.
Changing from bank to bank, as the character of the river changed, the
expedition, on the 30th of July, heard in advance the roar of the
cataract of Isingila. Here Stanley ascertained that they were but five
days' journey from Embomma, a distance always traveled by land by the
natives, on account of the obstructions in the river.
As the whole object of the expedition had been accomplished and the
short distance beyond these falls to the sea was known to Europeans, he
resolved to leave the river and march by land to Embomma. At sunset the
Lady Alice was drawn out of the water to the top of some rocks and
abandoned forever. To Stanley it was like leaving a friend behind. The
boat had been his companion for nearly three years. It had carried him
over the waters of the lakes, dashed at his bidding among hostile
canoes, rocked him to sleep amid the storms, borne him all safely over
foaming cataracts, and now it must be left ignobly to rot in the wilds
of Africa. As he turned to cast a last farewell glance on it resting
mournfully on the rocks, the poor boat had almost a human look, as if it
knew it was to be left behind and abandoned forever.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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